Sinspiration
by vlora
Summary: Trent finds his lyrics have become less and less inspired. Daria finds her stories start to take a rather bleak tone, even by her standards. Creative block sucks, relationships suck, but they soon find if you share it, it's not so bad. Daria/Trent
1. Horizontal Sports

_AN; Here I am, chapter one of a – many chaptered story. Daria/Trent! It's AU, from the point Tom and Daria broke up, set before 'Is It Fall Yet?' with the assumption Daria realized sooner that Tom was – Tom. This is a work in progress, so feel free to review with praise/criticism/whatever you feel._

_That concentrated gaze_

_You gave my eyes_

_I've never looked this deep into myself before_

_And I'm pretty sure_

_That I'm only human, then again I could be wrong_

_- __Foxy Shazam –_

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**Chapter One; Horizontal Sports  
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'_Are you being replace__d at work by super-intelligent, super-amazing aliens? True stories of extra-terrestrial invasions tonight on Sick, Sad World!'_

The tinny sound of a television out of tune drifted throughout the house, abandoned and ignored. The Lane house was, once again, void of most human life. The usual tenants were secluded to Trent's room, playing with paints and twanging a guitar. Very rarely would the two create in the same room, being that they were very ineffective working partners. This was probably owed to accidentally and frequently pointing out the other's issues or flaws. However, they gave it the good ol' Lawndale one-two and tried anyway.

Jane was dappling paint onto a canvas, working the brush strokes the best she could to the slow, repetitive twanging of the same guitar chords over and over again. 'Could you pick _more_ than one? Just once?' she asked out the corner of her mouth, a few other choice phrases remaining quiet. Her eyes strayed from the canvas to Trent, receiving only a grunt for her _politeness._ Trent continued through this 'creative block', managing a few scratched lyrics and a few more twangs of the guitar strings.

After a while, Trent took to singing whatever he had managed to concoct in his current state – a languid, vertically-challenged college drop-out. What course he dropped out of is, of course, a mystery to the world.

_Something's missing_

_Someone's dissing_

_A presence I can't beat_

_Something I can't treat_

_At first it seemed like a replacement_

_Like before, the knight/night shall live in a tent _(the word knight had been scrawled out, replaced with night)

_Repent! Repent!_

_All your ambitions seem hell-bent_

His voice ended with a tinny note reminiscent of the TV blaring downstairs, with his eyes focused down on the scrappy-edged book. Something titled 'private' for the protection of others rather than a need to keep things actually private. Whenever Trent would reveal his writing to the world, it seemed to throw it back at him in disgust. He looked toward his sister, his eyebrows raised slightly – a gesture of near-pleading, hoping she liked what he had written and composed.

'It's – er - _interesting_… much like cubism or… furbies!' Jane faltered; her arms were now slumped across her knees, eyes averted across to Trent. She had abandoned her painting and was staring at her misshapen brother, with Trent rather awkwardly splayed across the floor with his guitar lying beside him. They seemed to be avoiding the piles of – things, intent on leaving the carefully-constructed ecosystem to function on its own.

'It isn't _inspired_,' he mused, his fingers idly plucking the strings of his guitar. His voice kept its low grumble, barely audible above the guitar strings. In all his time on Earth, he knew he was meant to create, meant to play music – he sure as hell was not going to keep a normal job or even make it to a job interview. Anyone who knew Trent Lane thought the exact same thing.

'This is Jane Lane to Trent Lane!' Jane yelled as much as her level tone would allow, 'Are you alright? Either the wall is way too interesting or someone's actually _thinking,_' she said in mock-seriousness, her eyes focused on her brother.

'Thinking… funny, Janey,' he said with a small nod, standing up from the floor of his own room about to leave. He, of course, ushered his sister from the room, his voice more plangent than usual. 'Just being introspective. Chicks dig it.'

'You _were_ thinking then; even if it _was_ for the wrong reasons,' Jane accused with a small '_aha!_' as Trent slowly moved toward the door the door, his movements never escalating past a dull crawl. As the door finally closed, Jane called out something about Daria coming for pizza and for Trent to get changed – as if he owned more than three shirts.

Jane strolled off, her hands tucked in her pockets as she dodged a fallen something and proceeded to slump onto her bed. While Daria was coming over, she had the distinct feeling that Tom would be coming along. Of course, this didn't bother her – it didn't – what did bother her was she had to invite her brother so she wouldn't be alone. Her _brother_.

The thought sounded strange in itself; Trent was great and all, but he sort of… her brother; the thought sounded odd no matter how she worded it. No way could she make it sound less strange, ever. Jane was too distracted to actually notice Daria turning up, sans Tom. A thankful little smile flickered across Jane's face before she stood up (uselessly trying to fix her hair as she did so).

'Sorry, I didn't realise you were practising for Gym,' Daria said with a small inflection here and there, but her monotone prevailing as per usual.

'Horizontal sports are my best – wait; that sounded much too elicit.'

'Sure did. So, are we still going for pizza?' Daria asked with a genial little quip to her eyebrow – as much as they ever moved, at least.

'Woah there Morgendorffer,' Jane warned, her hands raised, 'I need to just get my equilibrium, or I'll just tip over. One wrong step and I could be – hell, let's go,' Jane said with a twitch to her mouth, a smile momentarily flashing. 'My humour is lost to me since Trent sung me some of his latest lyrics -'

'They were that bad?' A soft, muffled voice said from the door, eyes settled on Jane.

'…What is this, foot-in-the-mouth day?' Jane asked pointedly, hands resting on her hips.

'No, that's only every Tuesday… today is unfortunate-timing day… I'm secretly a mime,' Daria noted before walking out of the room. She realised that Trent had appeared, but chose to ignore him; said ignorance was quite blatant, so much so that both Jane and Trent exchanged looks of confusion. Though these looks only lasted a few seconds before the Lane way took over and they shared an indifferent little shrug.

'Pizza?' Jane offered.

'Sure. If Daria doesn't mind?' He was met with an indifferent noise from Daria, so took it as a 'whatever' – better than a no. He couldn't really recall the last time he ate, so the pizza sounded promising. Jane walked out after Daria, a slightly reluctant Trent extracting himself from the supportive doorframe.

The three of them made their way past the television, Trent turning it off before they all hopped into his car. There wasn't much of an exchange, outside of Jane insisting that Daria take the front seat. Despite the whole Daria-Tom epidemic since Jane-Tom had ended, Jane had been surreptitiously trying to intervene… maybe she wasn't over it, not as over it as she would have liked to have been.

Or maybe it was just the idea of having Daria and Trent together that tickled her fancy – a sister-in-law that didn't make her cringe for once. Jane's mind flashed to Monique, a nice enough girl, but someone that Trent just wasn't capable of maintaining a healthy relationship with. The two of them could barely remain friends, let alone a couple, for more than a few days at a time. Of course Trent was too much of a softy to tell her to leave right away, so the old bitch always seemed to work her way back into the Lane residence.

They arrived at the pizza parlour a short while later. It didn't take long before they were inside, seated and ordering a few slices. 'My treat,' Trent rasped, his eyes flicking between Daria and Jane as he stood up to go buy the slices. Jane gave a small waggle of her eyebrow as Trent did so, her attention returning to Daria.

'Usually he makes me pay. What did you do?'

'What?'

'Did you flash him or wrists? Or your ankles?' Jane quipped, a hand coming to rest under her chin as she examined Daria.

'Yes, I earned us free food with these,' Daria flashed a wrist at Jane. Jane, rather theatrically, covered her eyes and gasped. The two laughed until Trent returned with a pizza in hand, curious as to what he had missed. Along with the pizza, he had been wise enough to buy drinks. Daria thanked Trent for the gesture, chewing away at a slice of the margarita whilst Jane and Trent stole from the spicy bacon half of the pizza.

'Live fast, die young,' Jane explained with a saucy mouthful.

Daria simply shook her head, wondering if the person who'd first said that ever intended on being so misquoted. Her eyes trailed back to Trent every few moments, her guilty teenage infatuation being a driving force through all the stupidity she dealt with on a daily basis.


	2. Just A Teenage Girl

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**Chapter Two; She's Just A City Girl**

The pleasantries were cut short, with the arrival of Tom. Daria had spent days wondering why she was with Tom, despite how horrid that sounded. Was it because they had kissed? Or was it because Jane 'wanted' them together? Or even just because she needed to conform to the social standards of 'boy meets girl'? There it was, in that sentiment. It wasn't 'girl meets boy'… it was her place to smile and laugh a merry little laugh and vapidly twirl her hair around her finger when she was required to…

Tom, of course, had done his best to hide this up till this point of their relationship. Or, maybe it was the fact she had deduced he didn't care about her. That he wasn't actually interested in her at all. In fact, he hadn't even made a point of introducing her to his family, none of it. They hadn't even gone for a nice dinner, something she was sure that Tom would do for any of his other girlfriends. This made her wonder if she was just his shot in the slums so he wouldn't need to put effort in; she wasn't that desperate.

It's not like she wanted to be a girly girl, or wanted to froufrou herself up. She would just like a little recognition as a feminine equivalent to his masculine finesse – did she even want that? Did he? Daria made a point of asking all these questions and more during a pleasant little trip to Tom's car, seeing as he had offered her a ride home to 'discuss' their issues. Trent and Jane seemed nonplussed, but Daria swore she saw an annoyed flicker in Trent's eyes – she was just being hopeful.

Even as Jane and Trent waved themselves off, Daria remained her stoic and numb little self, arms by her sides and face averted to the front of the car. She hadn't seen Tom for a few days, and by this point her brain had mulled over everything and anything of concern.

'Daria, what makes you think I don't want to be with you?'

'We're dating because it's convenient,' Daria explained, her tone shifting unnoticeably from indifferent to annoyed, 'I never asked to date you – it was all about what you felt was right. I don't want my -'

'You don't want to be changed… you don't want to compromise your beliefs, your self-assured nature. You're an independent woman; you make your own choices. You're truly a martyr,' Tom explained, his hands neatly tucked into his pockets as he thoughtfully watched Daria's expression. It wasn't sarcasm or disinterest, it was just the same kind of speech he recalled from all their previous discussions; Daria had a twisted view that relationships caused nothing but pain and grief. He hadn't bothered to start driving yet, as he felt it wasn't the best idea in their current discussion to add the danger of crashing.

'What? I never said that… relationships are about giving and taking – God, I sound like…'

'A teenage girl?'

'Tom, it's _not_ working out.'

'Because you won't let it work out. You're making up reasons to fight with me, and pulling things out of the air… just _give_ me a chance -'

'You cheated on Jane with me, so I can't trust you. I'm sick of explaining to everyone that you're my boyfriend, not Jane's boyfriend or my brother. Tom, I don't want to get involved.'

'And that… relationships are all about getting involved, Daria… we have fun, we can talk, make fun of people – it's just like being friends, but -'

'You get some action out of it? You're right; we are just like friends… Thanks for seeing it my way. Bye Tom,' Daria gave a small sigh, her tone resuming its complacent monotone. Tom and Daria argued for a few more minutes, solely about her refusing to get back into the car. She sighed once more, muttering a very quiet curse word before walking off toward her house.

Or what she thought was her house. As she arrived, she realised she was at Jane's house, her subconscious having a good old laugh at her… she didn't want to see Jane right now, especially as she just dumped the thing that caused her and her best friend such goddamn grief and strife.

'Hey Daria,' the voice was a resonant hum of a sound, ripping her out of her trance of self-inflicted anguish.

'Trent?'

'Yeah.'

'Hey.'

The exchange was intensely sterile – they hadn't properly spoken since they had discussed, albeit vicariously, the fact they would never work as a couple. Sure, they had seen one another and exchanged pleasantries, but the two of them hadn't been as bare, exposed as these few seconds allowed; rampant and revealed; insidious and ignored. Daria liked to dramatise things as much as possible in her mind – it allowed her to mock the situation, and feel less like Quinn.

Her cheek remained singed from the touch of his lips, Tom's own kisses only serving to numb the burning resonance she still felt.

'What up?' Trent finally managed, leaning heavily on his guitar, eyes averted to the ground beside him. He seemed as distracted as she was, though he could have easily been focusing on remaining upright.

'Since I last saw you? Took a walk, ate pizza, broke up with Tom… the usual,' she added in her own variation of airy.

'Pizza, huh. Any good?' he asked, eyes flickering up to Daria before turning back to the ground.

'The first few bites were okay, but then the toppings got too much – the pizza started talking back too, asking if I had any soul behind the façade of sarcasm and orphan-snatching.'

A laugh that slowly formed into a cough resounded from Trent, his hand coming to rest just beside his lips. He took a moment before flashing a weary smile, eyes focused on her properly for once. 'Huh. Sounds like a pizza I keep getting… I keep hoping it'll taste better the next time I have it, but it never does… I mean, it's pretty good but – wait…' he trailed off.

'Talking about Monique?'

'Only if you're talking about Tom…'

'Mhhh. Nothing like some stuck-up pizza telling me I'm a teenage girl with impossible standards and a stick somewhere – I'll let you guess,' Daria let a small smile trickle past her features, quickly replacing the slip with a scowl.

'You're more than that -' Daria perked, 'you're Janey's best friend.'

'Oh. Right.' She scolded herself for expecting anything further. This – this crush was gone. He was unreliable, unfocused and going no where… she would have been better off dating Kevin for his brains than Trent for his future. She, once again, scolded herself. Her negativity was what spurred all her problems, but it seemed to be _almost_ always accurate. 'Trent…'

'Yeah?'

'Why are you out the front of your house? In hindsight, this would have been a better question to open with…'

'Dunno – inspiration… I'm trying to find myself…'

'Trent? Daria?' Jane called out, carrying some bags of, what seemed to be, groceries.

'Also, Jane locked me out of the house when she went to get the food for this month…'

As Jane approached she cast a look between Trent and Daria. Daria seemed to take a small step back, raising an eyebrow. 'I'm just waiting for you to hand over the deed to the farm.' They shared a few moments of pleasantries and explanations of needing some time before Daria bid farewell to Trent and Jane.

'I'll talk to you Monday.'

Offering no real goodbye Jane and Trent watched in mild confusion before walking into the house. Trent quickly headed upstairs, deciding against getting involved in the sticky Daria-Jane-Tom love triangle that had developed over the past few months. Sticky business he wanted no hand in, especially not now…


	3. Anguished Writers of Teenage Society

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**Chapter Three; Anguished Society of Teenage Writers**

Despite the confrontation, Daria waited for Tom to call her… this was a pointless endeavour, her hopes ignored and unfulfilled. Come Monday, Daria had given up with this whole situation, her attention now focused back on school and on maintaining her relationship with Jane. This was first and foremost; next was deciding what she would do for the holidays that were fast approaching. With exams actually over and reports being written, all Daria had to worry about was her mother trying to set her up with some stupid notion of a 'summer activity'… the damn things were plastered all over the walls of the school, offering menial rewards for lamentable experiences.

'You could always join the Jolly Rangers,' Jane suggested, running her finger down the list, 'oh wait, you have to be jolly. Hmm, what about the Happy Hikers… no, still not right… how about Anguished Writers of Teenage Society?'

'You surely jest,' Daria duly noted, watching as an impending Upchuck attack seemed to approach.

'Of course, I made up the last one… what about the Prancing Peccadilloes – what the heck…' Jane questioned, oblivious to the approach until Daria began to walk away.

'Ladies, don't fear. There is plenty of the Chuckster to go around. No need to fight over me - !'

'Quickly, to the Daria-mobile,' Daria mumbled, her eyes darting over her shoulder to make sure Jane had followed – which she had. Breathing a sigh of relief, they approached the stairs that led to the roof of the school, thankful for their study period – O'Neil was away that day.

The two quietly sat, staring out at the sky and comparing notes on what clouds looked like, finding everything from Satan to a fluffy bunny. 'Hey, if you squint, that looks like a – cloud.' Jane grinned, her hands tucked behind her head.

'Do you write your own jokes, or do you just get them in the Christmas crackers?'

'Hey, I love those crackers – nothing says Christmas like a paper hat, plastic lump of colour and a bad joke to celebrate the season. Especially when Trent and me used to do 'em without telling anyone…'

The day seemed to rush past them, their pleasantries serving as little more than a distraction from the sickness that Daria had been suffering since Saturday. Of course, it was nothing she couldn't suppress until bursting at the seams… it only seemed natural to refrain of telling your best friend you had dumped a guy they had been dating and – the whole predicament hurt even Daria's brain, so she chose to shake the thought off. They gathered their things that had scattered on the roof's concrete surface, idly hoping that another teacher would contract the flu and they would be able to leave early.

Of course, rather than a teacher, it was Daria who was sick. The pandemic seemed to spread across the school, nearly half the students and teachers absent or trudging from class to class. So, with this horrible ailment in mind, Daria remained a hermit. Void of contact with the outside world excluding the television and her mother who seemed determined to make her sicker with soups and pills. After a few days of the flu, Jane seemed to have been imbued with some second-hand, shoddy information and lies that manifested from the nothingness of Lawndale's civilians.

'So… you and Tom broke up. Why?' Jane chided, standing in the doorway of Daria's room. She refused to enter, more out of fear she would be incapable of escape if she did enter the room rather than the fear of illness. Daria seemed to notice the lack of trust, not blaming Jane one bit.

'Thanks for coming to remind me. He's… flat,' Daria lied, unsure what she actually found troubling about Tom. In her surroundings of tissues and books, it was easy to pretend life was an intangible and easily ignored theory. There was, of course, nothing wrong with Tom as Daria had begun to realise over the passing hours alone. He was a nice guy and was just trying to make Daria open up to him – oh wait. 'He wanted me to start -'

'I meant _'Why was I not there to watch you turn him into ribbons'_, but alright… Did he make you feel big, scary emotions?' Jane joked, crossing into the threshold with a noticeable breath held within in her throat. 'Daria… you realise, no matter who you date, you're going to have to treat them like a person, and get close to them… you can't hold everything at arm's length.'

'Sure I can, watch me.' She held a book at arm's length, looking over to Jane who had simply pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead. 'I – don't know… since I started dating Tom, I just can't write. It's like last time, for that project. I couldn't write anything that wasn't just drivel, where everything is just one big slump of beginning, climax, end. It's like an omen, that he's not the one I'm supposed to create with – am I boring you?'

'Can't talk… sleeping,' Jane had taken to making small snoring noises, leaning against the doorway in a very similar fashion to her older brother. The sentiment made Daria shudder very softly, ditching the book on her nightstand. 'When are you ever this expressive?'

'I show emotion and you… fine, what do you want from me?'

'Give the guy another chance, live a little and lend my five bucks,'

'I can do A, we can discuss B, but not C…' Daria responded, her voice showing some signs of weariness. She had, of course, overreacted to Tom. They had fought over nothing and ended on such a horrible note. With this in mind, Jane and Daria bid farewell, their goodbye very flat. Jane tried not to admit it, but she was thankful for the resolve. Daria seemed happier with Tom, when they weren't butting heads and being their stubborn, smart-arse selves, of course.

'_And that… relationships are all about getting involved, Daria… we have fun, we can talk, make fun of people – it's just like being friends, but Daria -'_

'We're just like friends, only more…' Daria mumbled to herself, the very idea of it making her cringe in annoyance. After her discussion with Jane, she didn't feel so much resolved as she did conflicted. Tom was, as she said, a nice guy… but he wasn't right. She spent her time arguing and conflicting with him. He may admire her fighting spirit, but how long would he admire it before seeing it as a force to be eradicated.

She needed to talk to someone who wouldn't make her feel like she had to argue a point or force herself to become poignant and expressive… she needed to talk to Trent once more, just to feel like she knew where she stood in the world.

Plus, he always seemed to know the right way to approach things, never making her feel as if she were on the spot… it wasn't as if he coddled her into anything, he wasn't trying to act superior. But what Daria had with brains, Trent had with years of experience and wisdom that was only gained through a horrible career and crappy music.

Not that she would ever admit that to him, finding his guitar playing and singing actually quite – the words flustered in her mind, melding into a thousand different ways of saying the rather obvious 'irresistibly attractive', a phrase she would never, ever, ever use.

'Now you've truly gone over the deep end Morgendorffer… You've also seemed to have started talking to yourself again… might want to get that checked out,' Daria thought aloud, her chin tucked into her hands. She needed to talk to Trent, finalise anything between them before she went off frolicking in the fields with Tom. With this disturbed image in mind, Daria forced herself in a near-comatose sleep in fear her brain would concoct a scarier vision than that.

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	4. The Sloths That Moved Too Fast

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**Chapter Four; The Sloths That Moved Too Fast**

'Your pain, so raw…' Trent stiltedly purred, his words catching the essence of each syllable – or so he liked to believe. He looked around the rest of his band in hopes they'd have some kind of continuation. This was a regular occurrence for the band, trying to perfect and revise their songs before actually putting music to them. Of course, most were flops, but they were all too nice to admit it to one another. With Trent looking at them with anticipation, Nick simply shrugged whilst Max and Jesse tried their best to come up with something.

'Like a kitten that hurt it's paw?'

'We're fighting the law?'

'I like my steak raw?'

'You can't rhyme 'raw' with 'raw',' Jesse argued with Max, though due to the band's general sluggishness, it was a raise in tone before dappling out into dirty looks.

'Guys, its battle of the bands next week…' Nick interjected, examining his fingers for a moment before standing up and stretching slightly. His hair was currently a bright pinkish colour, something that put neon colours to shame. The band had a dramatically contrasted appeal, with a variety of guys from aloof and reckless, Max, to Trent who was the rebel without a cause… but totally different from Max's appeal – at least, this was the drivel Jane had drilled into her mind after hearing hours upon hours of discussion about it.

'How about _'Shut your maw'_?' the voice chimed from the nearby table. Jane was nearby with a bowl of crisps, tutting her tongue and looking around at the band members. 'Is it just me, or are you always going to some 'battle of the bands' or another?' she wondered aloud, a hand placed on her hip while she eyed Jesse and Max (who were still glaring at one another).

'Of course, we're a band, and we have to battle to be the best!' Max managed, clearly the most aggressive of the band members – though it was a hollow façade, lasting until they were faced with real danger or real trouble… Jane still had the tape to prove it too, a little something she whipped up a while back. A guilty smile passed her features, giving Max a moment or two of 'the look of all-knowingness' before turning her attention to her brother.

'Huh… Trent?' Jane said, examining her brother who seemed to have fallen asleep on the table.

'Take five,' Jesse injected, all three standing up to go outside and smoke. Jane felt her nose crinkle up and eyes narrow at her brother. She walked over and sat the bowl down beside him, shaking it slightly so the crisps made a noise. At this sound of food, Trent perked up.

'I swear, I never meant for the banana to find us in a hot tub…' he yawned, fists clenched on the table.

'As much as Freud would have a field day… Do I want to ask?' she said with a grin.

'No. You'd know too much.'

They sat, staring at the bowl for a moment or two.

'Janey?'

'Mhh?'

'You and Daria – are you fighting…?'

'Why do you ask, dear brother of mine?'

'Last time I saw you two together you didn't seem right. Like you were full of negative energy or something…'

'It's fixed now…' Jane shrugged, taking a few crisps and shoving them into her mouth. Trent did the same, his hands resting on the table as he carefully chewed through this mushy, horrid starch lumps he and his sister loved.

'Friends forever, friends for never…' Trent hummed, his fingers tapping the table briefly as he looked around for a paper and pen. After the extensive period of three minutes, he scrawled together some kind of song.

_We're friends forever_

_Friends for never_

_No need to pretend_

_My soul you gotta mend_

_My life's ambition_

_Our new mission_

_Get Janey a date_

_Before it's too late_

_Maybe if we get paid_

_Janey might get la -_

'Hey!' Jane scoffed, stealing the paper and rushing away with it. Trent made a few languid movements after her, laughing (well, coughing) at the display as he tried to retrieve the lyrics. The two rushed around much like when they were younger, when there was just them and their older siblings – they had always been the closest… Jane and Trent were thankful for that, the rest of the family even more insane than them.

Eventually Trent gave up the pursuit, hearing the doorbell ring. Panting slightly and uncharacteristically red-faced, he opened the door and tried to remain standing. 'Oh. Hey Daria.'

'I'd say 'Hey Trent' but you seem too vigorous to be anything but an alien counterpart to the real Trent -'

Jane came crashing past, Trent taking this opportunity to steal the lyrics back. Daria was in awe – despite rarely moving faster than a snail, sloth or other slow animals, he seemed to be in perfect shape… She watched him fend off Jane before noticing Daria watching – as if trying to preserve his image of tired and weary he tucked the lyrics into his pocket and stood as if he had never moved.

Thankful for her track team training, Jane puffed a few times before composing herself, 'Welcome to the Twilight Zone, Daria,' she cooed, 'where Trent moves quickly and Mystik Spiral's songs actually makes sense!'

'Give me a minute, my world just turned on its head…' Daria warned, entering the house and sitting down on the couch. Jane followed, as did Trent with both taking a seat either side of her.

'So what brings you here to my lofty abode?' Jane asked aloud, indicating her rather dismal house, clearly well-worn after the many years of children rioting through it. Daria was still in a state of shock at Jane and Trent's display, but managed to pull herself together.

'I needed to talk to Trent…'

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	5. In Two Words, He's Unhelpfully Helpful

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**Chapter Five; ****In Two Words, He's Unhelpfully Helpful**

Jane looked in slight shock as Daria said she wanted to see Trent – allowing a small smile to cross her lips to mask the shock, she shrugged, 'I know when the starving artist isn't wanted. Come up to my room when you're done, okay?' she nodded, giving a little two fingered salute before dodging upstairs. She wasn't sure what to make of the situation, beyond the bizarre interest in Daria and Trent hooking up – they would make such a darling little couple… of course, Tom and Daria were a 'thing' so it seemed to be set in stone where their paths would cross. She stole a greedy little glance downstairs, hoping to see Daria and Trent in some precarious situation. However, Daria remained in the doorway and Trent a few feet in front of her. Letting out a sigh she slunk off to her room to watch TV.

Downstairs was a different atmosphere; a tension had built that Daria felt quite clearly, but Trent ignored entirely. 'Hey, so uh...' Trent shuffled inside, drawing Daria in with his mere movements – she closed the door as she entered with hands by her sides.

With a collective breath, Daria looked up to Trent. 'How'd your pizza topping go…? Still hoping it'll work out better the next time?' Daria asked, eyes now averted to the ground as the two of them stood in, what was essentially, silence.

'Is that what this is about?' Trent asked in a slightly intrigued tone, an eyebrow darting up his forehead momentarily. It dropped once more as Daria didn't agree or disagree with his observation. A flick of his hand followed him as he entered the kitchen, walking past mess and plates as if they weren't there.

Daria fought the urge to clean up, trying to ignore it in the same way Trent had. She sat down at the table, one foot hooked around her ankle with her hands rested by her sides. Trent sat beside her, his foot kicked up onto his knee, 'Have you called Tom then?'

'No.' Daria looked down to her lap, shoulder hunched very gently. 'I didn't want to talk to him before I talked to you,' she admitted, cringing at the sound of her own words.

'That's cool. So what did you want to talk about then? I'm still hazy on that,' he added with his signature coughed laugh, resting an elbow on the table. He tried to tilt his head to catch Daria's own eye, confused by her shyness – not that he wasn't used to it. He just thought this was all done and dealt with ever since they had, had _that_ discussion. The one just as Jane and Tom had walked past, after the school project had gone to hell.

After a while, Daria turned her face back to Trent, her eyes only following the suit through an equally forced gesture. 'Am I immature? I mean, I treat relationships like a five-year-old girl does… I look at them from a jealous, narrow perspective… I only care about whether or not I'm happy, and if I get to keep my own personality and life sperate from theirs…' Daria let out a breath, though it remained inaudible. Her eyes drifted back to the ground, fingers fidgeting in her lap.

'Who said you were immature?' Trent asked, leaning forward with interest – or concern. The expression was fundamentally the same with the older male.

'No one, but it makes sense, doesn't it… I'm almost 18, I shouldn't be worried about what I'm worried about. I should just be happy to have someone. I mean, Tom's a nice guy, when he wants to be… and I'm not perfect. So it's just something we could work at, right? I don't know why I'm talking to you about this…' she paused, pressing her hand to her forehead, tugging her glasses off. Her head was starting to hurt after all.

Trent seemed to be thinking, 'Almost 18, huh?' Trent said with a small cough, unintentionally masking a laugh. 'Why are you so determined to settle down with Tom then? I mean, it's cool if you two want to be together, but if you're only interested because _he's_ interested, what's the point?' he scratched absently at his tattoo, wondering why he was being perceived as the martyr of successful relationships; he had more strikes than hits, most of his relationships existing as one-night-stands scattered around.

Daria looked entirely bewildered, 'I don't want to be with him – but you said I should give him another chance, and so did Jane,' Daria gave a baffled sigh, examining a nail before letting her hands motionlessly rest on the tabletop.

'He was your first crush, I guess it's gonna be confusing.' Trent added, hoping that Daria would just write this relationship off if it was causing her so much grief. He never believed in relationships being without pain or struggle, but not if it was making Daria so – un-Daria.

'He was my first kiss, not first crush,' Daria pointed out, quickly flinching back from her words. 'Thanks Trent, I think I've got it figured out,' she lied, standing up and walking off toward the stairs – until her elbow was caught. She let out an inaudible growl, turning back to see Trent towering over her.

Trent seemed to have everything to say, but nothing coming from his mouth. He kept his lips parted, his hand flinching back from Daria's elbow, 'Ah – I was just gonna say you should have a big party for your 18th… I mean, you could forget about the whole Tom thing and have a bit of fun…' he realised the point was lost to Daria, clearly not the type to have big parties.

'I'll talk to Jane about it,' Daria reasoned, pushing her hair behind her ear. She gave Trent another look, wondering why he had bothered to stop her for such a minute detail. 'Trent…'

It was his turn to perk intently, a smile reminiscent of Daria's own smile slipping onto his features. 'Mhh?'

'Thanks,' she gave a true little smile, 'you – helped.' Even if he _hadn't_ helped as much as she had hoped with Tom, he had given her some of his own time to talk to her. He seemed genuinely concerned too, and it wasn't as if this issue was going to melt away because she spoke to Trent.

'I just feel sorry for the guy who you crushed on first,' he said with another cough-ridden laugh, 'he doesn't know what he missed out on.' Trent gave another smile, remaining close enough to touch Daria but not bothering to close the gap. Even as she stood with her glasses turned up to him, a thankful smile on her face – he shook it head, eyes drifting closed. 'I better go get my band – unless they smoked themselves to death.'

'Fair point. Nothing kills a career than the musicians developing terminal illnesses…' Daria drawled, wondering if Trent knew he was the first guy she had a crush on, at least, that she would have acted upon. The two remained in the awkward tango of smiles and aversions of eyes until Jane made herself known in the corner.

A small cough was all she needed, Daria taking a step back and Trent simply turning to the noise. 'Hey, I was dying of old age up there,' Jane joked, walking into the kitchen, 'band's gone to get pizza, Trent,' Jane added, looking up to her older brother, 'if you hurry, you might catch Max – he's a slower runner,' Jane pointed out to Daria, the corners of her lips turning up.

Trent nodded and looked between Daria and Jane before walking out of the kitchen, 'I'll be home later,'

'As in, 'tonight' later or 'I'll see you in four days' later?' Jane yelled out, only receiving a small grunt as a response. She rounded on Daria, smiling a little more, 'So.'

'So?' Daria asked.

'When's the wedding?'

'Right after your funeral.'

'Damn, I was gonna make such a good bridesmaid.'

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	6. Streamers, Balloons, Clowns, Oh My!

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**Chapter Six; Streamers, Balloons, Clowns, Oh My!**

The idea of a birthday party continued to tickle at Daria's brain. After spending a few hours at Jane's house, discussing their latest creative activities and who they would take with them into space, Daria was home at last. Rather than being allowed the sanctioned pleasure of walking upstairs without her parents talking to her, she was tugged aside by her mother to discuss something with her family.

'Mo-om,' Quinn whined, her arms tightly laced together as she stood in front of the TV. Jake was busy dodging to try and see said TV, but soon found it flicked off. Screaming out a few childish curse words, he excused himself to get a glass of water. He mumbled something about respect, but it was nothing the three Morgendorffer women hadn't heard before.

'I felt it's time to discuss – Daria,' Helen turned to Daria who was lethargically slumped on the couch, hands by her sides and eyes still on the TV that was now turned off and blank.

'Discuss me?' Daria asked, raising an eyebrow.

'No, just pay attention. I had to rearrange four meetings, two appraisals and don't even get me started with – Eric!' her phone tingled. She eyes the phone for a moment before quickly turning it off. 'Anyway, your father and I have been talking,' she looked toward Jake who had returned with a glass of water. He sat obediently on the couch, eyes focused on his wife for fear of being yelled at. 'We want to throw you a big birthday party for your 18th!'

'What?' was the general consensus; though Daria's monotonous voice was drowned out by Quinn's high-pitched injection, followed by a few screeched noises of annoyance.

'We feel that you need to spend this year working on connections – er, I mean, _friendships_ with your classmate. You'll need all the recommendations you can get if you want to stand out against the private school no-good, accelerated cheaters… My girls are better than any of those upstarts,' Helen muttered, catching some of the maniacal threats off her husband.

'I'm going to college next year based on my own merits, not my connections -'

'Exactly Daria. So, you need to get your friendships – connections – friendships! Yes, you need them to be more concrete… you never know who might be your boss one day,' she said with a tingling laugh, remembering her own boss from high school… 'Stuck-up, no-good, two-bit hack!' she huffed, hands on her hips. At the confused glances, she smiled once more. 'We'll get streamers, and punch, and clowns – kids like clowns right?'

'I'll be so glad to miss it,' Daria pointed out, 'besides, I already decided I'm going to have a party at Jane's house,' she felt an odd twitch of guilt, hoping she could work her way through this later.

'Jane's?' her mother sounded crestfallen, 'Well… I suppose it means less cleaning up…. Quinn, Jake, stop arguing!' she yelled once more, hands settling more firmly on her hips.

Quinn had been yelling at her father that it wasn't fair and that she deserved a party and that Daria wasn't nearly popular enough for a party. She seemed to prick up as she heard Daria wasn't going to have a party – sighing contently, she flounced off to her own room to call Sandy and discuss their new blush-to-eye shadow ratios.

Daria was thankful she was allowed to leave, finally allowed some time to think about the day she had just had. The encounter she had, had with Trent was still rather apparent in her mind, afraid that if she was about to explode. He had made her feel so special, so secure when he had told her that she…

No, that the guy she had first liked was a fool for missing out on her. A guilty little pleasure spread throughout her mind, her eyes settled on the floor of her room as she entered it. Tugging off her boots and her jacket, she changed into her pyjamas and settled down at her computer. Not wanting to admit it, she found herself writing out a rather soppy and romantic little story about a girl and a guy.

Though, the only part of it that possessed anything of interest was the beginning… the sweet little moments before they had actually gotten together. That was the part of a relationship she always liked… the tension and the 'will they, won't they' sort of moments. And, admitting it made her want to just jump out of her window – even if her window was only a story or two high. Finishing the story with a tragic death, she felt she had cancelled out her initial fluff.

The next thing Daria knew was that she had a call, and that it was Jane on the other end. 'Hey sport,' she said with a dull little flicker of amusement in her voice.

'Hey,' Daria countered, scratching her eyebrow before slumping onto her bed, 'I assume you have something to tell me… or ask me?'

'Yeah, Trent wants you to come help him pick out a tux for the wedding,' Jane joked.

'So funny,' Daria muttered as her tone built to a gentle amount of aggression.

'Okay, okay… I just wanted to ask about that essay for English…'

With that, Jane ended up over at Daria's house, seeing as a phone call could hardly help the issues that Jane was facing. After a few hours of intense labour, Jane had something she could be proud of (and something O'Neil wouldn't grade an 'A for effort'). The both of them were now content, a discarded pizza box lying beside them. For all their fighting and all their discomforts in boys, they seemed to be one and the same.

'Hey, is Janey here?' The voice resounded through the hallways. Neither of them recalled hearing a knock at the door. Jake seemed to have answered the door, as he happily pointed Trent in the right direction. The next thing they knew, Trent was in the room.

'Why didn't you call?' Jane asked, raising an eyebrow.

'I did – apparently the phone line was busy…' he explained. 'Uh, so…' he added before walking out toward the house's front door

'Did he seem off to you?' Daria asked, watching as Jane gathered her things and apologised. Daria stood up and watched Jane tumble down the hallway after Trent.

Daria would have slapped her forehead, having forgotten to tell Jane she wanted to have her 18th at her house… she supposed she could ask tomorrow – even if she just lied to her mother and said she was going to have a party. Daria wasn't one for parties, so she would be just as happy sitting in front of 'Sick, Sad World' for the night with Jane and Trent.

Resigning herself to her computer once more, Daria stayed up a few hours too late trying to fabricate a story that would ease her emotions, finding nothing but solace in the story of her a communist party being quashed by some woman with sunglasses. Of course, this was just a satirical little joke… of course.

'Can you believe that Rachelle wore pink? She has such red hair, it looked totally out of – Sandy, I meant to say is that on her it looks weird… I wear pink, but it looks totally normal… and of course _you_ suit pink Stacey… Tiffany, don't be so down on – Sandy I'm not trying to run the meeting – S-Sandy? Oh she hung up,' Quinn walked into Daria's room, apparently holding a four-way phone conversation with the Fashion Club.

Daria gave her an accusatory look, lacing her arm over the back of the chair. 'Yes?'

'Could you _please_ stop typing, it's really distracting,' Quinn hissed, her hand over the mouth piece of the phone as she exited the room. With that as an obvious cue, Daria slunk into her comfortable bed at around 2 that night, finding it ironic that Quinn was louder than any keyboard… she just hoped the other girl had bags under her eyes when she woke up, but quickly dismissed that devious little idea.

Still… it would be funny.

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	7. Cheaters And Liars

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**Chapter Seven; Cheats and Liars**

'I'm so proud of you all!' O'Neil said in his hushed excitement, his hands happily clasped around one another, his eyes alight. It didn't matter that most of the students had probably gotten less than 60% on this essay, what mattered was five of them had managed a 100%. With a few sobs of joy, he gathered himself very sloppily. 'Well, Daria, Jane… Jodie… and, as a big surprise – er, Kevin and… Brittany.'

Daria and Jane looked toward Kevin and Brittany, the typical cheerleader-quarterback arrangement making them twitch inwardly. They seemed content with themselves, but Daria and Jane were doubtful. Turning back to the front of the class, the two laid back the rest of the lesson, not paying much attention to what was going on.

As lunch came around, Jane was introduced to the idea of a party. 'So do you want to do this because your mom said it,' she paused, 'or because Trent said it?' Jane sat down at their usual table, the few occupants quickly shifting to another table to avoid the presence of Jane and Daria.

Daria countered the question with an expected shrug, 'I've never had a real party – one that I actually want to have. So I was thinking, even if it ends up just being me and you at your house… it's not so bad,' Daria looked up to Jane, ignoring her meal. She wasn't all that hungry.

'Well, my parents are going to be home for a few months, they've gone on some 'round the world trip… and besides, Trent could always get a bit more exposure with the Spiral, they could really use it…' Jane pondered a little more before turning her attention back to Daria, 'still, this is all because of a certain black-haired person, isn't it?'

'Of course, I want to throw this party so I can finally make my move on you, Lane,' she rolled her eyes, taking a reluctant bite out of the grey sludge in her tray.

'Oh, you do flatter me Morgendorffer,' Jane laughed, pushing her hair behind her ear. She wondered who would actually attend the party, but chose to ignore the issue, for now… it was nice to see Daria opening up, even just a little. It wasn't as if she couldn't use a bit of help in socialising.

'Kevvy, I told you we shouldn't have paid the same person to write our essays!'

'Babe, at least we passed! O'Neil doesn't even like, realise… he's totally oblivious to the fact we cheated,' he laughed before being tugged away by O'Neil himself. Daria and Jane watched with a smile across their faces, eating their meals with a sense of victory.

The day passed quickly, with Jane and Daria walking and discussing what they would do on a Monday night - they eventually decided to just let the night go, both a little more tired than they'd like to admit. Parting ways, Daria continued toward her house as Jane walked through the unlocked front door. Tossing some letters on the table next to the door, she stepped over a few piles of miscellaneous objects before walking into the kitchen in search of suitable sustenance.

Trent and Monique were sitting at the kitchen table in a heated debate, Monique yelling about how Trent was keeping her from becoming a huge star. Trent seemed to be only defending himself, not really offering much in the way of an argument except for 'Nu-uh' or a few scoffs.

Jane held back a sarcastic comment or two, remembering the last time she had gotten involved in this lover's spat. She was just hopeful they _wouldn't_ reconcile, seeing as there was nothing more awkward than the nudges against the wall that made her shiver. Trent and Monique eventually stopped as they finally noticed Jane.

'Whatever, I never want to see you again Trent,' Monique finally said in a huffed annoyance, 'if you can't accept me as the better artist, it's over forever!' she found this suitable, snatching up her handbag and quickly exiting the kitchen.

'Such a charmer,' Jane muttered as Monique slammed the front door.

Trent issued another grunt, standing up and walking off toward his room. Jane let out a sigh, pushing her hair back into a ponytail, eyes averted to her water (which was only half-boiled). 'Dear old Jane is left in the kitchen once again.' Finally managing her coffee she retreated to her room, her intention to go straight to her room. Of course, this was not the case… hearing a few angry twangs of guitar strings, she walked into Trent's room.

Slung over his bed, eyes tightly shut and a guitar clutched in his hands, he was playing some out-of-tune and discordant sounds. 'Harpy woman, sucking out my life, tongue so sharp, it's like a knife.'

'Woah Trent, let's just sit and chant about calm blue oceans,' Jane said, sitting at the edge of the bed and watching her brother carefully. He cracked an eyelid, eyeing his sister with resentment. It quickly faded to his usual soft and calmness, the guitar being pushed aside. Jane offered the coffee to Trent but he turned it down.

'Say, this might be a bad time, but how would you feel if we had a party here?'

'No way,' Trent said flatly, 'no can do… mom and dad would kill us.'

'Not even for our little bespectacled friend Daria?' she enquired, tilting her head, 'she wanted you to play at her party and everything… but I guess, if you're not interested…'

'I'll think about it,' he said softly, tugging the coffee away from Jane and sipping it contently.

'Alright, I'm gonna go do homework… please don't play guitar while angry, remember what happened last time?' she asked, standing up and walking off toward her own room. Trent examined his fingers for a moment, a row of scars across his fingers. He'd pressed too hard; strummed too long; felt too much. The red welts had lasted days and now remained a constant reminder of his pain as an artist.

And, ironically, it had been Monique's doing the last time.

'Harpy woman, your words so hollow, too much resentment I can't swallow…' he searched for a pen and his lyrics book, writing out a new set of lyrics. They remained the section dedicated to Monique, a ragged and hacked section where the pen had gouged out parts of the pages. His music let him express what his façade wouldn't – and, with his horrible way with words, he worked toward a song that he could dedicate to the woman of his nightmares.

Jane guessed they'd be back together in a week or two, never really enjoying the aftermath of Trent and Monique – it always made Trent act like an idiot in her eyes. And the walls, they were so thin, and her music could only go so loud…

Daria slipped into her home and straight upstairs, her computer still on from that morning. She had continued to write, her attention focused on rendering some kind of perfect romance. There was none of it in her own life, especially with Tom now entirely lost to her – and Trent being a few years too old, and few years too immature…

'Daria, a boy called for you today. Troy… Trundy… Trent… Tom? I dunno, but it was a 'T' name.' Quinn yawned, donned with pyjamas and a pair of fuzzy slippers. She had stayed home that day due to the bags Daria had cackled about the previous night. Quinn stood for a few minutes before shuddering, 'Your room is _so _creepy, it's like someone died here,' she whined, her arms tightly crossed across her chest.

'What makes you think someone didn't?' Daria asked, her 'joking' not very apparent to her younger sister. Eventually Quinn backed down, slinking off to her own room and leaving Daria to do whatever it was Daria did.

Pulling up the document from the previous night, Daria refined and reworked the story – a tragic and misplaced heroine, a helpful and dashing love interest and an evil, benevolent villain who liked to keep the heroine guessing by not calling her.

Daria blinked, registering what Quinn had said to her. 'Wait, Tom… or Trundy… someone called?' she said aloud, walking over to her phone and padding in Tom's number and hoping for the best.. Being met with the voice of their housekeeper, Daria waited till she was redirected to Tom.

Hearing a few moments of muffled discussion, Tom's voice slipped through into Daria's mind, a smile reluctantly forming. 'So what did you call about?'

'To apologise – I wanted to give you some space, seeing as I felt like I was suffocating you… Daria, I don't want to beg – but – I want to be with you enough to admit I was in the wrong when I wasn't…' the words seemed less forced than Daria imagined them to be. Her eyes darting from her wall, to her bed and then to her computer, she took a shallow breath.

'I've been thinking about it all… and, I just… I – want to be with you, it's just a bit too hard to work out right now. You're the first guy I've dated, kissed… so, I just don't want to – I -'

'Are you stuttering?' Tom laughed, Daria's nose crinkling against the statement.

'It's your fault,' she spat before taking a breath, 'we can try it again, but I'm going to have to go a bit slower – I don't want to spend all out time together, I want to still be my own person, not 'Tom's girlfriend'.' Relief passed over her, her eyes tightly shutting. After a few moments of negotiations, Daria and Tom decided a date to somewhere a little ritzier was needed – the pizza shop was starting to become too typical.

Secretly Daria was pleased, thankful that Tom had picked something a bit better than 'pizza and a make out' was required to get back into Daria's good graces. With a goodnight, Daria approached her story once more and refined it – it turned out the villain of her story was more of an antihero, a misunderstood figure. A guilty smile fractured her usual stoic expression, reluctantly saving the story – she slipped into bed with the same smile, nothing really ruining the odd satisfaction she felt.

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	8. To Forgive and Forgo

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**Chapter Eight; To Forgive and Forgo**

Daria and Jane spent the rest of the week deciding what would happen between Daria and Tom in light of their slight reconciliation. And even though Jane felt awkward in her position as the 'ex', she decided Daria was going to fall over herself faster than a new-born deer on the date. What time they had spare between classes was dedicated to idly discussing what sorts of rigorous tests Tom should be put through before Daria officially accepted him back, if she did decide he was worth her time.

'A series of questions,' Daria suggested as she folded paper on her desk. DeMartino was on some rant about the historical figures that played a major role in the progression of capital punishment. It wasn't anything new to the bespectacled girl so she pointedly ignored him… it wasn't like she was incapable of pulling answers out of her general knowledge.

'Just questions? How dull.'

'Better than the sharks idea you had. Maybe some kind of Roshark ink-blot test.'

'Snakes? How about snakes?' Jane suggested, tapping a pencil against the table. Without much thought towards how or where they would come into play, the black-haired girl began to picture Tom hanging over a pit of snakes. Daria quickly brought her back to reality with a cough or two.

'I keep thinking this will only end badly.'

'You being pessimistic? How blasphemous, how unexpected…' Jane dryly joked. One thing Jane hadn't mentioned was the discussion between herself and Trent about the party they wanted to have. More importantly the fact he agreed only after hearing it was being thrown for Daria. Jane figured it was only going to confuse the girl even more.

'I'm just realistic. A pragmatist,' Daria pointed out as she returned to making origami birds. Jane had taught her a few weeks back and it had become a nervous habit. 'It's tonight… so I'll come to yours afterwards, just to make sure I have a safe house after I bury the body,' Daria plotted, crumpling up the birds as the bell loudly announced itself.

Fifth and sixth period went by quickly, the two being more than thankful. The week had been rather boring, all the teachers' busily trying to prepare them for college or whatever else they were supposed to go off and do… Daria was basically assured a spot at Raft, and Jane had been working on her folio… neither of them had to worry very much. It was something they could rely on, and was something they both clung to. College would provide them with new people, places and existences… away from home, and away from the 'outcast' high school label they had been provided.

Once again, the girls broke off as they approached Jane's house. Uncharacteristically, Jane loosely hugged Daria goodbye. She just hoped the date went however Daria wanted it to go. The only consoling fact she possessed was the knowledge that she would know soon enough. Daria would be coming back to visit her after the date, at least that was the plan they had arranged. The black-haired girl couldn't help but watch as small figure wander off toward her own home. Jane slipped into her house and was met with Monique and Trent in a heated little gesture of reconciliation. Jane issued a loud sound of disgust without any hesitation; as quickly as she could, the girl rushed into the kitchen and made herself her desperately needed coffee – her third that day.

Only hearing the muffled discussion, Jane was thankful for the wall keeping her from her brother's love interest. Eventually she figured it was safe for her to walk up to her own room – Monique seemed to have left, if the goodbyes were any indication. Trent was standing nearby the door, hands tucked into his pockets. He quickly perked up as he saw Jane, offering a casual smile and a lazy wink. 'We worked it all out,' Trent uselessly explained, nodding a little before scratching his eyebrow.

Jane always tried to be happy for her brother, but there was something about the situation that rubbed her the wrong way. 'Trent, you two are just gonna fight and break up again. Think about it, you fight like crazy every week, get back together and repeat the process over… when are you going to find a girl who you don't have a million issues with?' Jane flinched at her tone, sounding too much like her mother. 'At least once who doesn't dress like a lamb when she's clearly past the used by date,' Jane added with a sigh.

'Monique doesn't dress like a lamb,' Trent argued back, toeing the ground and looking off into the vague distance.

'Figure of speech, y'know, mutton dressed as lamb? No?' she explained, 'She about 26, right? She dresses more teeny bopper than I do,' Jane pointed out, eyeing her brother. Trent shrugged, scratching his temple and then his chin. 'Do I have to take you to the vet for a flee dip?' Jane turned toward the stairs, quickly secluding herself to her room. She was just going to sit and paint, hoping that Daria wouldn't take forever on this date with Tom. For the next few hours, she felt she'd be stuck listening to the insipid love lyrics her brother wrote whenever he became enthralled with Monique again.

In some horrid twist of fate and 'luck', Jane was right.

'Your words, so sweet, your essence, I'm beat. A web of devastation is wiped away, you're so – so…' the guitar twanged out a few painful notes, the sickeningly sweet lyrics making it sound all the more pathetic. Jane growled at the music, turning on her own as loud as possible. It turned out that even _that_ wasn't enough to tune out the sickeningly sweet tones of 'bunny' and 'honey' rhymes.

---

Daria arrived at the Lane residence a few hours later, her form noticeably dolled up. The usually bespectacled girl had let her mother and sister had seen to her dressing up for the occasion, a fashionable outfit and a pair of open-toed shoes to match were on her feet, replacing the usual boots. She seemed to have dwindled from what was probably initial perfection, though that was expected. It was almost eleven, and her date had begun at six. She resented the title of date, feeling it was more an occasion that happened to involve herself and Tom at the same table.

With a few more knocks at the door Daria gave up and welcomed herself in. The Lane family wasn't known for their security measures, so she was met with little resistance. The sound of a guitar playing, Trent singing and Jane trying to drown it all out could be heard – nothing out of the usual. Rushing upstairs to the best of her ability, Daria practically fell into Jane's room with a marvelled gasp from the black-haired girl.

'Who are you and what've you done with Daria?' she asked with a laugh, noticing Daria's slightly vacant stare. 'No glasses? No boots?' she blinked a few times before crossing her arms. 'Hello, Earth to the harlot in the doorway?'

'I'm such an idiot,' Daria mumbled. Without much hesitation, Daria crossed the room and rank into Jane's bed. She kicked off the shoes, and felt her focus instantly settle on the floor before her. After a few minutes of silent comfort in Jane's presence, Daria seemed able to talk. She told Jane about how it had started fine, how Tom had picked her up and how they'd gone out to some nice restaurant or another – neither of them cared for a name. Daria told Jane all about the fun they had up til Tom started talking about going away for a weekend sometime, in the future.

'I overreacted,' Daria pointed out, a shallow shrug passing her small frame, 'all he said was '_When we finish school, we should go somewhere for a weekend_' and I just started getting really hostile.'

'Mmh, how dare he offer a nice getaway… truly a fiendish plot.' Jane sighed, placing an arm around Daria's shoulders. She noticed how cold the other girl seemed, in spite of the warmth of the house. She examined her friend for a moment before tugging Daria closer, the gesture lost on the both of them – neither of them had ever been very affectionate toward one another, but neither seemed to want to end the would-be hug.

'I just started getting angry because I'd told him we should take it slow… it was like he was _assured_ we'd still be together, and that acted like we had never broken it off. It was like I was another girl who he was just charming with his parent's last name and his credit card…' Daria shook her head, 'I'm not giving him another chance.'

'Tom probably wasn't trying to do that at all,' Jane bitterly pointed out. Her frustration fell onto Daria in her moment of supposed need. Her friend had been so short with Tom when he seemed to have offered her a nice getaway and a conversation piece. Any further prodding or poking was cut short as the guitar stopped playing and the sound of Trent's mournful ballad stopped twanging at their ears.

'Hey Daria,' a voice wafted from the door, an intrigued set of eyes remaining focused on the two girls. Trent invited himself in a step or two before noticing the change of attire and attitude in the brunette girl. 'Uh, I can come back,' he mumbled, exiting the room.

Daria would have curled into foetal position, but found herself doing something much more productive, 'Trent,' she said aloud, surprising herself and Jane, 'it's okay. Come back?' she asked more than requested, gripping to the edge of the bed.

'I'm gonna go make you something to drink,' Jane said airily, walking out past Trent. She gave him a small punch to the arm before trotting downstairs- the Lane way of saying 'don't screw this up', if there was any meaning to it at all. Trent re-entered the room, a smile faintly plastered across his lips.

The two remained quiet until Trent eventually walked over to sit next to Daria. 'So.'

'Mmh, feel free to mock the outfit by the way,' she pointed out, hands tucked under the legs as she stared at the ground.

Trent shrugged, looking at the same spot on the floor, 'Just a change… I mean, I never picked you for the frilly skirts and make-up type…' he paused, 'must really like the guy, or something… seeing as you were trying to impress him like this.'

Daria looked at Trent with a hint of upset, 'It's nothing like that. We were just going somewhere that required something half-decent -' she cut herself off, 'I sound so unlike myself. God, this is just…' she placed her hands against her forehead leaning forwards, her shoulders giving a stilted little shudder – she couldn't help it, she felt like her heart was exploding. Her attempts to reconcile with Tom ended abruptly with her own indignation and now Trent was assuring her that he supported the idea of Tom and herself being together; her mind flickered between the fact she was very minutely sobbing in front of Trent and the idea of her melancholy exterior being purged from her.

Trent found himself frowning, his fists clenched against his knees. The questions he had pent up died in his throat as he shook off the need to help with words. Placing an arm around her shoulders, he drew Daria closer and hummed a small tune, wondering if she was really worked up over this one guy. Her usual monotonous ways seemed to have given way to years of pent up upset and grief… this was probably why she never wanted to be in a relationship, it _did _change her. He was somewhat thankful he had poked his head in to tell Jane he was going out that night – but he found himself with more important things to do than go out, especially when Daria reciprocated to the arm around her shoulder with her own arms snaking around Trent's waist, her nose nuzzled into his shoulder. She seemed to have given up on composure, at least for the duration of this little meltdown. Trent did feel a privileged sensation as he thought this over, imaging that Daria rarely exhibited such emotions around others.

'Hey Daria,' Trent managed after a few minutes, his voice dying a little as the night wore on.

'Yeah?' she managed ineloquently.

'Maybe you should just – stop trying to go out with Tom… I mean, you've tried your best and nothing seems to work… look at you,' he said with a cracked smile, 'a girl as hot as you doesn't deserve some rich, stuck-up guy...' With that, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, anything further entirely held back due to the already-fragile state the girl was in. They waited for Jane to return with the drink, not really saying anything or moving from their comfortable state.

The sound of footsteps could be heard as Jane returned with two mugs of coffee for herself and Daria. Jane, as to be expected, was a little amused by the predicament of Trent with his arm around a blank and unresponsive little Daria, her face turned down with a painful looking blush across her cheeks.

'Trent, shouldn't you go call Monique?' Jane asked pointedly.

'Who?' he managed, a sliver of a smile appearing.

Jane just shook her head, placing the drink into Daria's hand and shooing Trent away. 'Thanks for the help,' she muttered, closing the door and trying to extract more information from Daria – there had to be more than a weekend getaway messing up the night.

And, of course, it turned out there was.

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	9. Vicious Cycles

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**Chapter Nine; Vicious Cycles**

'Tom and I just don't – click… did I just use that phrase?' Daria sounded shocked at her own vocabulary. Having slept the night away, Daria looked even more ragged than she had the previous night; her makeup was now partly on her cheek, and partly on the pillow she had slept on. She was also wearing an oversized shirt and a pair of pants she had borrowed from Jane, which was a miracle – last time she borrowed clothes off Jane, she looked like a ninety-year-old woman. Daria sat quietly and waited for Jane to return with news of breakfast, assuming there was any food in the house at all.

'Tom has a habit of being so nice at the start, and then it fades… But so what, you dressed up, you put in effort, you tried. What else can you do? Or alternatively, what do you want me to say? I'm running out of generic reassurances,' Jane slipped back onto her bed for a moment before realising she needed a shower. Begrudgingly, she began gathering things for said shower. She scratched at her head for a moment as she struggled to find her shirt.

'I guess…'

'Stop playing into the role of the misery chick,' Jane quipped, 'or I'll get Trent in here to keep you company while I'm having a shower. Who knows, a little tender lovin' care might wake you up and make you feel all better,' Jane smirked a little, watching as Daria perked slightly.

'I suddenly feel better,' she lied, her hands tucked between her knees as she watched Jane slip through the doorway to shower. Daria turned her attention to the night before. It was all the little things, she supposed. At the restaurant, Tom had waited for her to pick a meal, insisted on doing little things like pulling out chairs and other genial little actions. Daria had never been a stickler for details like forced etiquette – but then again, she did expect to get driven home, and for some minor things like personal space and propriety to remain.

That was one of the things that annoyed her. It was probably the fact she spent the whole date wondered about how to end her pointless little drabbled story. Tom had offered her what she wanted; a nice, genuine, wealthy, good-looking guy who had a great future and a great sense of humour, and she found a problem with him… of course, it seemed so appropriate. Daria continued this self-defeating mental rant until she heard footsteps passing Jane's door.

Quietly, she watched as Trent passed by. He hadn't bothered to put on his usual shirt and was in a tank top, a thought that entertained the back of Daria's mind for some illogical reason. Flushing slightly, she was rendered entirely smitten with the image in mind, letting her forget the current issue she faced with Tom, and to a lesser extent, the rest of the world. Changing into some clothing Jane had been nice enough to offer to her, she waited for the other girl to return.

Jane returned with towel wrapped around her neck. 'I'll see you later, then,' Jane noted, seeing Daria jump up – well, stand up faster than usual.

'I just - feel a bit sick. Thanks for everything,' Daria shrugged, picking up her bag and walking out toward the front door.

'Bye,' Jane called out, 'I guess.'

Daria waved back, rushing downstairs and straight into a lover's spat.

'You said you'd come over last night,' Monique said in a hurt tone.

'Mhh,' Trent muttered, rubbing his eyes uselessly.

'Where were you?'

'No where.'

'Trent, how are we going to have any kind of relationship if you're always running late; that is, if you bother to show up at all! I don't think you're serious about _anything.'_

'I'm serious about my career.'

'What career? I'm between bands and I get more gigs than you do,' she huffed, her arms crossed over her chest. She seemed to falter back, and although Daria couldn't see it, she imagined an amazingly sour look exuding from Trent's face at the implication of Monique's words.

'We've got a gig coming up soon, right here… you should come, I wrote a song for you,' he said before ushering Monique out the door with stilted goodbyes.

'That's it; we're over, for good this time…' Monique said in a low, venomous voice, her face contorted into a rather angry and upset expression. Daria actually felt kind of sorry for Monique, but clutched to the banister in fear. Trent had been walking off to visit Monique she surmised, but he had gone in to hang with her instead… and, why had he not bothered to go out after he had seen that Daria was alright?

With that, it seemed as though Trent and Monique finally noticed Daria hanging out just behind the staircase banister. Monique changed her face, looking up with a softened expression towards Daria, 'Hey kid, how's the piercing?' Her voice was oddly calm, considering the shouting that had just occurred. Monique had, for the times Daria had met her, been seemingly nice.

'I got rid of it,' Daria replied, watching Trent shut the door. After seeing Monique smeared in makeup, an outfit that looked painted on and her hair done up so nicely – she saw a concerning reflection of herself. What she must have looked like to Tom the previous night, and to a lesser extent, what she looked like to Jane and Trent. Trent took a moment before saying anything, busy taking deep, calming breaths.

'…Are you okay?' Daria hesitated, eyes flittering between the door and Trent.

'I'm fine,' he explained, his hands sinking into his pockets. 'You?'

'Sure.'

'Cool… Say, do you need a ride?' he asked, noticing the bag.

'It's fine, I can walk.'

'Nah, I feel like I should drive you – it's the thing a guy should do for a girl, after all.'

Daria remembered how Tom hadn't offered to drive her to Jane's after dinner, the two splitting off rather quickly after the bill was paid and the dinner was gone. The chivalry she did appreciate was spared that night… but Trent seemed to be picking up where Tom had failed to finish. She sighed and nodded, walking out the front door. As she passed Trent, she looked up with brown eyes seeming hollow.

Trent found his heartstrings tugged by the display – Daria was always so reserved and quiet, never letting the usual issues of guys or school get to her – not that he knew of anyway… then again, she never seemed to have much experience with guys outside of Tom, that he could recall. Sighing a little louder than he meant to, he tugged her into a platonic hug, a hand patting her on the back. 'We suck at picking pizzas.'

'Maybe we could just start getting burgers, then.'

'Nah, that's too drastic – I'm not ready for that kind of a change…' he said with a laugh, letting Daria go and walking out to the car, Daria following in a rather docile fashion.

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	10. Just Like Janey

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**Chapter Ten; ****Just Like Janey**

Trent and Daria spent most of the car trip going through genial little bouts of small talk, the brief distance between the Lane and Morgendorffer residence being a God send to Daria. In the time though, Trent managed to aptly guess that Daria didn't like Tom nearly as much as she had first thought she did; even her 'initial' crush on him wasn't all that grand or amazing. It was for experience and something to pass the time, something neither of them really ever wanted.

'We're thinking of changing the name of Mystik Spiral,' Trent offered, his hands tapping at the wheel of the car, his eyes languidly watching for pedestrians. 'I had something last night.'

'Oh… what was it?' Daria asked as a small sardonic flicker to her eyes as she watched him ponder the thought.

'Something about 'burning'… or 'decay'… Decayed Ashes? Ruins of Embers? Dunno… I think I wrote it down somewhere…' Trent idly chewed out the words, turning to the curb of the road outside Daria's house. As she opened the door, a hand came to rest on her arm. She turned back to see Trent eyeing her carefully, 'Daria, you sure you're alright?' he asked, letting his hand remain against the rarely bared skin that was Daria's arm.

'Not really.' Daria sat back against the chair, her fingers pinching between her eyes. As she made this gesture a kiss feathered against her other hand, Trent's rather calloused fingers holding her hand in place.

'Try to feel better then?'

'What was…' she swallowed her question, figuring it was best not to ask about tender displays of care – not after she spent forever and a night wondering what life would be like if she did embrace human nature a little more. Daria flushed a red colour, half-glaring to Trent. He kept telling her to feel better when he was the root of her upset and grief. She reluctantly tugged her hand away from his, examining it as if it were somehow different. 'I'll try.'

'It's nothing to do with Tom, right? I mean, what you're upset about now,' Trent offered, resting his arm against the wheel of the car. He gave an inquisitive glance up and down her figure, head tilting slightly. As he received no reply, he scratched his head a little, 'Can I make it any better? I hate seeing you upset – you're like Janey to me,' he explained, finding that the words brought a bitter taste to his mouth. 'I just mean that you're close to me, I mean, ever since Alternapalooza… I just worry about you because no one else bothers to press you for information, right? Like you enjoy being something everyone just wonders about, never revealing your true feelings…' Trent continued to muse, not realising he was just digging a deeper hole.

Daria eventually managed a small 'thanks' and slipped out of the car, dragging the bag after her. Trent had tried to make her feel better, and in his own way, he kind of hand. Much like her ability to understand how he worked, Trent had the amazing ability to see how Daria worked, too. It was some kind of attained empathy that struck a chord between them… by they'd summed up his feelings for her – '_like Janey'_. The phrase, for all its tenderness, wasn't what Daria had been looking for. Trent ignored the 'thanks' and the fact Daria had closed the door on him.

Jumping out of the car and running after her seemed the best action, her short strides no match for his long, languid movements. Placing himself between Daria and the door, he slunk down a little so they were a little more equal and so he wasn't towering over her.

'Just gimme a smile, then I'll let you go. And I'll return to being that silent guy at Jane's house who plays tacky guitars and sings god-awful songs,' he 'promised', his hands tucked into his pockets.

With this comment, Daria smiled a little, a hand wrapped around her eyes for the moment. Hesitantly looking up to Trent, she felt as if her heart skipped a beat. 'You should be able to tell why I don't want to date Tom,' she pointed out rather boldly, her hands falling to her sides.

'So it's my fault then?' he asked, having his own preconceived ideas on the topic, but he wanted to hear it from her. This situation tasted foreign to him, her words burning his ears and heart at the same time. Maybe it was the fact she never seemed all that emotive, maybe it was her oddly coy nature for the moment… he couldn't put a finger on it.

'Daria, there you are,' Helen called, standing in a nearby garden bed – she was donned in overalls and carrying a few garden utensils. 'Oh. Hello Trent.' Her tone changed dramatically to a very business-like tenor, her eyes shifting between the two.

Trent straightened up, reluctantly smiling toward Mrs. Morgendorffer. 'Hey,' he said, a cough marring his attempts to sound a little more presentable than usual.

Daria took this moment to thank Trent and watch him stride off to his car. Helen stood in the garden, eyes fixed on the boy dressed in the olive-green shirt. With a gentle tug or two, she took off her gloves and walked inside, going off in search of Daria.

Daria was in her usual hiding spot, tucked between her computer screen and computer chair. She was typing like there was no tomorrow; it seemed she had found some kind obvious flair in her writing, with the hero of her story faced with some kind of a witch and the villain dwindling into the background. All that was left was the hero and heroine discussing how they could – 'Daria,' her name sent a chill throughout her body, her eyes not shifting off of the computer screen.

'Hi mom,' Daria said with a low tone, continuing to type in spite of her mother talking. After a few moments, Helen made of a noise of frustration. 'I had a great night, I broke it off with Tom and now I'm trying to drown out whatever post-relationship grief I can. Not to mention where Quinn was last night, you should go talk to her about that.' Daria's tone didn't falter, her eyes half-mast as she continued to type.

'Actually,' Helen said softly, walking over to Daria, 'I came to talk to you about that Trent fellow.'

'Why?'

'Isn't he a little – _old_ for you?'

'I suppose I should start getting lifts off 16-year-olds, it'd be much safer.'

'Daria, what I meant is – you two aren't – you know how when a girl feels she's very close with a boy, she -'

'Stop. I'm going to have to call child services on you,' Daria said, her tone quipping up, not in any mood to discuss the 'birds and the bees' with her mother.

'So you aren't _going out_ with him?'

'No, I'm not.' Daria turned toward her mother, an arm slung against the desk, 'Mom, I know you're trying to act like the caring parent, however I'm fine and there's nothing wrong. It's like how Quinn is just fine with that tattoo she got yesterday -'

'Tattoo?' Helen yelled, eyes flying wide as she rushed out of the room. The muffled cries of Quinn and Helen could be heard until a unified 'Daria!' came from Quinn's room. It had worked for a short while, distracting her mother enough to get her off the topic of Trent and herself; it was a concept she hadn't even tried to think about – except earlier when she had accidentally offered a little too much of a joke to the other… and he seemed to have missed it.

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	11. Nine In The Afternoon

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**Chapter Eleven; Nine In The Afternoon**

As Trent arrived home he was met with Jane on the couch eating some kind of instant meal. 'You're up early,' she pointed out, her eyes drifting between her food and the TV periodically, enjoying the laziness of a Saturday more than she could remember. It was probably because she had spent most of the previous night reliving the same feelings she had gotten from Tom when they had broken up – all through Daria. She shouldn't have let them date, but it seemed as if nothing good would have come out of the situation either way.

'Or I'm going to bed late,' he argued, an accomplished smirk faltering across his face.

'What were you doing, anyway?' she asked, not satisfied. At Trent's groan she tutted her tongue. 'Don't you go groaning at me young man,' she managed a fairly good impression of her mother through this, 'for you see, if you hold a butterfly too tight, you'll crush it… you need to let it free and -'

'Alright, alright. I had Monique come over and yell at me, we broke up for real and then I gave Daria a ride home… am I grounded yet?' he asked pointedly, his hands tucked into his pockets.

Jane perked up, eyes switching to Trent as she ignored the ads – usually she believed they were supposed to be seen and not heard, but right now neither was applicable. 'Was she alright?'

'Yeah, her mother freaked out though, when she saw me… she's nice, but she's way too corporate. Like, she sold everything to get the job she got or something…' Trent's cosmic approach to situations never failed to amuse Jane, her elbow coming to rest on the arm of the couch as she watched Trent with particular eagerness.

'Fair point – but she's decent enough. As long as you didn't completely ruin Daria's brain or anything,' Jane half-joked as she returned to the TV. She didn't doubt Trent had managed to muddle up her best friend even more, seeing as Daria was back to crushing on Trent in her geeky, shy way. Both of the Lane's knew quite well about the crush, but Trent had only recently caught on.

'I mean, I kissed her a little, nothing too big… oh, well, except then we went up to her room and – Janey, I'm kidding,' Trent laughed, hiding her smile behind a hand as he coughed. The look Jane had given him could strip paint off the walls. 'I'm gonna go sleep before band practise.'

'The band's been here for twenty minutes now.'

'Oh. Damn, I'm late…' Trent sighed, trudging into the kitchen with resentful focus.

A few hours later, and several arguments afoot, Mystik Spiral called it quits for the day. Trent waved them off from the front door and walked off toward his room, his eyes drooping noticeably. As he was finally in the isolation of his room, he shut his door and tugged out his book for lyrics. His amusement was forefront as he read a few lyrics he'd written the previous night. As per usual, he set to work… he had a few weeks left before the gig – the one at his house, with the high schoolers and Daria; she deserved to be set apart from the teenage nobodies.

_Somebody gets it, somebody knows me_

_Who's gonna get me, who's gonna know me_

_Who's gonna get me, who's gonna know me_

_She does, the girl I see behind the glass, behind the glass_

_Trying to protect herself, what can she do, what can she do_

_The curse of familiar faces, familiar disgraces_

_Sorrows unknown, sorrows not shown_

_Not showing what plagues her heart_

_Writing, the writing against the wall, against the wall,_

_All she can do is love and fall, love and fall_

_Girl behind the glass, what can she do_

_What can she do… what can she do…_

Trent stared down at the lyrics and issued a gruff little sigh. He didn't like what he had written, not even in the slightest. Had he known just a few streets over a girl was suffering the same block, he would have smiled – but for now, he settled into bed and slept, slept because he couldn't feel much else. Something had been spread to him – creative block? He didn't know what to call it.

Several blocks away, Daria was clacking away at her keyboard at an essay for her English class – it wouldn't be long before she was through with the stupid thing, so she decided to take some recreational time. By which she meant working on another piece of writing… As the computer hummed and tried to collect documents, Daria walked downstairs to fetch some kind of refreshment.

'Daria,' Helen chimed, her hands neatly crossed in her lap. Jake was nearby with a sullen look on his face, his eyes averted to the window.

'Hi,' Daria said rather slowly, her eyes shifting between the two. As she drank and placed the glass in the sink, Daria could feel her mother's rather frightened gaze. Had she walked into something? Ignoring the oddity that was her family, Daria returned to her room – not missing the words 'trial' and 'separation' in the same sentence. 'So it's that time of the year again,' Daria softly mumbled, her hands fiddling together as she walked upstairs. As she arrived back in her room, she noticed the document had finally loaded. Daria sighed and re-read the passage several times over, her words muddling together like Brittany trying to talk about Shakespeare.

_Morgana slipped between the cracks of society, but couldn't slip through this – the tenuous grip that Tri held on her… it sickened the young woman to the core, to feel her heart so rapt with a man at least four years her senior. With a disheartened gesture, she continued to walk the streets of lower-class New York, no interest in what society would think of an aristocrat delving into the underbelly of the __crime syndicate, all for the man she knew as Trent._

'Spelling error,' she chuckled, ignoring the word 'Trent' and replacing it with the name 'Trent'. She growled a little and retyped again 'Tri', shifting her focus to the entire piece rather than the names.

Each line she read made her head spin a little. Narrowing her eyes in focus, she found the work bore no resemblance to her own writing… it wasn't her own. She couldn't put a finger on it, but she couldn't think of any way to fix it. Deciding against trying any further, she saved the file and withdrew herself from the computer. With this fresh defeat in mind, she slumped onto her bed and started watching TV.

---

'I am so sick of this! Who keeps putting the K cereals in front of the B cereals? It throws off the entire order of breakfast! It makes me late! I'll lose a client again, and it'll all be thanks to these –'

'Jake, it's a Sunday – and the cereals aren't in _any_ kind of order,' Helen dismissed her voice a low, dapper tone without coffee. Daria and Quinn were sitting at the table, eyes averted to their plates. Bacon and eggs for Daria, and a slinky piece of toast for Quinn.

'Mhh, this bacon sure is delicious…' Daria happily cited, examining a piece before eating it.

'Stop it Daria! You _know _as vice-president ofthe Fashion Club, I have to partake in the monthly purge-week. I can't eat icky _anything_ or else I'll, like… be reliable-lable and stuff! I'll have to wear clothes like you to hide all the weight I'd put on!'

Daria felt her face fall, watching Quinn as she delicately nibbled at her piece of toast. She cursed mentally, quickly finish breakfast before returning upstairs. She didn't feel like socialising, nor did she feel like being alone. A subtle hint of confusion cropped up as she examined her padded walls – she always wondered why there had been padding in this room, not to mention bars on the windows…

'Are you Quinn's – oh, it's _you_, hi Trent' Helen could be heard voicing, her tone faltering for a moment, 'Daria? She's upstairs, but – excuse me, I could have you arrested for breaking and entering -' the threat was hollow.

The languid form of Trent entering Daria's room with a smile embedded in his features was concerning to say the least. 'Hey Daria, I had an idea.' He took the shock as an invitation to slump onto her bed, happily placing her hands behind his head – it was reminiscent of the first time he'd ever been in Daria's room, when he had needed to escape his family.

'And… this is why you've come to my house at 9 in the morning?'

'Woah, I thought it was later than that… I guess it's what I get for not sleeping last night…'

'So what was your idea?'

'What idea?'

Daria gave a bemused frown, her arms tightly crossed.

'I'm kidding. Look, I remembered last night about how I didn't make that music for your school project, right?'

'I seem to recall that disappointment,' Daria nodded, kind words failing her for the moment.

'I wanted to prove I can stick to deadlines… so… how about you and I collaborate again, for the gig – for your birthday party?'

'So I _can_ have the party at yours?' Daria realised she had never actually asked Jane what the answer had been, a small detail she realised was rather imperative.

'Yeah – but,' he seemed a little annoyed, 'we should collaborate… I wanna prove I'm not a total deadbeat. C'mon Daria,'

'I don't think -'

'Just write a song for me, alright? You're an awesome writer from what I've heard, so… your lyrics, my guitar skills, we've got something – right?' he cracked a grin and stood up. He stood with his ringed hands settling on his hips, eyes focused on Daria.

'_Something _is right,' Daria muttered, nodding a few times, 'I'll write some lyrics, but you can't miss this deadline this time…' Daria stressed, knowing she would regret giving Trent another go. Though, the idea of acting as a creative party with Trent seemed to amuse her, as much as possible at least.

'Just make sure they're from your heart and make them inspired…' he rubbed his chin for a moment, deep in thought.

'So you thought all this up last night?' Daria asked.

'Something like that – I was suffering from writers block pretty bad and I kept thinking about life.'

'Same…' Daria's tone faded as her eyes dropped to the floor. Trent crossed the space from Daria's bed to her doorway.

'So make this your method of breaking out of the block,' he mused, his fingers twitching nervously as he examined Daria. He felt a few things come to mind, a few things he wanted to say and wanted to talk to Daria about, but found himself failing – failing really badly, actually.

'Thanks.'

'I haven't done anything yet,' Trent smirked, his voice giving a small rasp toward the end. The two remained a fair distance apart, neither wanting to properly invade the other's domain, not for the moment… not since the other day when they had been interrupted by Daria's mother. The nerves seemed far too raw to even be discussed, let alone dealt with. With this sentiment in mind, Daria walked over in hesitant attempts to see Trent out. Until, of course, he placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her, his eyes focused down into her own.

'It'll be my best work, I bet,' he said with a genial nod, leaning down to give her a kiss – but faltered halfway and remedied it with a ruffle of her hair, quickly turning to exit her room. He didn't know why he faltered, but he had. Daria remained in the room for a few moments before following after Trent practically lost in her thoughts. He supposed it was because it wasn't 'right'… Daria was worth more than a crazed groupie or guitar-toting Monique-esque musician… It'd take a little more than a casual kiss or two to get her attention, he knew it.

Helen watched pointedly as Trent left, once again gardening. Trent looked over to Helen as she poised a pair of garden hedge clippers and began hacking at a bush with a very loud swallow, quickly diving into his car and driving away. Something _else_ told him he'd have to survive the parents who were probably not going to be wrapped knowing some 22-year-old was hitting on their 17-year-old daughter.

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	12. I'll Make You Feel Something Then

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**Chapter Twelve; ****I'll Make You Feel Something**

After a few days, Daria had something worthwhile. Though her lyrics meant very little, they were lyrics none the less. After showing them to Jane, she reworked them again and again, until she felt she could show them to Trent. Without giving much of a thought to the issue at hand (such as her mother and Quinn trying to figure out why Trent had come over and insisted coming in) she went over to Jane's house. Jane seemed more than happy to see Daria interested in something outside of discussing Tom, especially as it seemed more constructive than moping.

'So you think Trent could work with these?' Daria asked, offering Jane the lyrics.

'Well, considering the fact he can work with stuff like '_hurt like a kitten's paw'_ you'll be fine,' Jane quipped, tugging her bag further up her shoulder. 'So do you want me to be there for moral support, or do you intend to melt into his arms like butter?'

'How did you know,' Daria said with facetious tone slipping from between her teeth.

'I'll come with anyway, I wanna see what he manages to make out of your lyrics…' Jane shrugged, following Daria upstairs and into Trent's room. And, in the usual Trent fashion, he was asleep. Jane muttered a small whoops and tugged Daria out of the room. The blankets were positioned across his waist, a bare torso strung out above the top of the covers. Jane couldn't be held responsible for anything below the waist, or for Daria's ability to see.

'Sorry,' Jane muttered, knocking loudly on the door and yelling out her brother's name a few times. As she heard no response from the fourth call she walked into the room and tugged at Trent's shoulder, 'Get up,' she incoherently insisted, watching as Trent stirred to life.

'Oh – hey Janey…' he peered past Jane to see Daria, giving her a small wave, 'I'll be up…' he faded off, returning to sleep. Jane shook him a few times more before he finally slipped out from under the covers. Thankfully he had boxers on, but even that made Daria turn her back to the situation.

Jane just scoffed loudly, forcing a shirt and pants into Trent's hands. 'Nice,' she chimed with a small hand flick, her index and middle finger pressed to her thumb as she scoffed once more. 'Get dressed, Daria's here to do the collaboration thing.'

'Cool…' he purred, pulling the pants on as if they were a shirt. He slowly realised this was incorrect and stripped off the pants and put them on properly, ignoring the shirt for the moment. 'Can I get some coffee then?' he asked through a yawn and a stretch, his eyes tightly furrowing as he did so. Jane walked off toward the kitchen, with Daria still turned away from Trent.

'Am I offending you?' he asked through a coughed chuckle, walking over to Daria. As she turned around, he noticed her eyes dart between his face and his bare torso – apologising, he searched around for a proper shirt and slipped it on. Daria was now able to look up at him, bemused in her own way.

'You knew I was coming…' she said softly, her eyebrow rose at him, 'why weren't you ready? I mean…' she shook her head and pulled out a sheet of paper, her eyes showing a mere flicker of confusion. 'One thing…' Daria hesitated, keeping the sheet to herself.

'Mhh?' Trent countered, his hands dug deeply into his pockets as he eagerly awaited the work the young girl had churned out.

'It's really…' Daria was at a loss for words, something Trent had an uncanny knack for doing. 'Just read it.'

_Blissfully Broken_

_For sorrowful acts  
There's a broken commitment  
For therapists to make their dollar  
I turn up and you're unavailable ___

_I can't make it past the burning disregard__  
__I'd be safe and happy without you  
__Close your eyes, tell me it's right  
Because without that, it's not alright_

Without you I'd be shallow and happy  
Striving for the Stepford dreams  
Without you I'd be with someone  
Playing up the white picket fences

Or something I don't want to think about  
Like the kids I'd never planned  
So help me keep this good thing going  
Keep me in this state of second-guessing

_I'd be secure and blissful without you  
You c__lose your eyes, tell me it's right  
Because without that, it's never alright  
But even then… it's never alright_

'Deep…' Trent mumbled, his eyes running over the lyrics. He noticed a few parts that could be changed, but only to make it sound more natural when he would sing it on stage. Noticing Jane had returned, he sat on the edge of the bed and accepted the coffee, 'Pretty good Daria…' he said with a smile, nodded a few times before drinking a few mouthfuls. Jane smiled proudly to Daria, ruffling the girl's hair.

'All grown up, writing tacky song lyrics for grunge bands… so proud,' Jane laughed. Daria simply scowled the best she could, always admiring Jane for her confidence and ability to laugh everything off.

Trent brushed at his hair, feeling it had gotten too flat. 'So if I work up some kind of melody to this… well, I'm gonna need some help. Can you carry a tune?' he asked, stretching out his back a little before setting the now-empty coffee mug down.

Daria stared at Trent in utter confusion. 'Singing… not really,' Daria pointed out, crossing her arms across her chest. Jane smirked and starting singing out a few of the lines, 'Okay! I can sing better than that, but so can deaf dogs…' Daria felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips. It wasn't as if she was terrible, but her monotonous voice meant it wasn't very emotive or very interesting. After a few attempts, Trent stopped her.

'Daria, if you're gonna sing, you need to get rid of the monotone,' he scratched at the nape of his neck. Jane had excused herself to go paint whilst they 'created', feeling a bit like a third wheel. Daria watched her go with slight apprehension, but it was quickly busted by Trent starting to sing a few of the lines.

'For therapists to make their dollar, I turn up and you're unavailable,' he hummed between his lips, hoping Daria would join in. She did, reluctantly, her voice carrying very little change in tone or pitch. He just laughed, rubbing his eyes fervently. 'Put all your heart into this, like you were singing it to your ideal guy but you'd never see him again… like you're trying to get everything you feel out through your voice.'

'I feel nothing.' Daria joked.

'I'll make you feel something then,' he pointed out, giving her a moment before she started singing with a lot more effort; there were even a few high and low notes. Oddly enough, she wasn't a terrible singer at all… it probably stemmed from her ability to control the tone of her voice so well, something he was sure no one really knew about her.

---

After a few hours, Trent seemed to have come up with a tune to use, the two of them settled on the floor of his room as he made a rough draft. Daria was genuinely surprised, always imagining Trent as one of those artistic types who would only work when inspiration hit. She examined the room intently in her hours there, taking note of the posters and the shabby-looking furniture. It wasn't as if she cared all that much, but it was the subtle nuances of a person that really defined them in her eyes.

'So what do you think?' Daria turned her attention back to Trent, tilting her head. 'About the song thus far…' he was impressed he had used the word 'thus' correctly. He'd actually been reading a little more ever since he and Daria had started talking more – he felt like he needed to impress her to keep her attention, despite her entirely negative reaction to Tom… someone he was glad to not hear from.

'Sounds good…' Daria said with a slightly chipper edge to her words.

'Cool… so… say we call it for the night…' he said with a yawn, standing up and setting his guitar aside. Before Daria had the chance to stand up, Trent hand offered her a hand to help her. Daria accepted it precariously, eying him as he eased her up. Smiling a little wider than either liked to admit, they turned their attention to something or another – anything to distract themselves with.

'You're pretty cool, for Janey's friend…' Trent pointed out, scratching at his collarbone and staring at a stain on the wall – his attention turned to Daria who hadn't responded. She seemed entirely involved with a sock hanging off a lampshade. Trent managed to command her attention once more, a gentle hand gesture just in front of her face. 'I said you're pretty cool, least you can do is -' the comment sounded worse coming out than he had meant it, shaking his head.

For once, the moment seemed right. He'd been patient, he'd spent time denying it. It seemed she wasn't there mentally, though the girl kept a hesitant little part to her lips, ready to spit out a comment about him being late to everything and something about Huckleberry Hound. Whether she would have or not was irrelevant, as she wasn't allowed the privilege to think. In a rather soft, serene little gesture, Trent bent down and placed a genial kiss against Daria's lips, something he'd come close to more times in the past than he liked to admit.

'What was that?' Daria asked as she broke the kiss, wide-eyed up at Trent.

The two blinked at one another before Daria half-tugged Trent down into another, slightly less chaste kiss. She felt her inhibitions catch up this time, pushing Trent back and scurrying around to pick up her boots and exit the room.

From the reaction he had gotten, he supposed he'd done something right… the boots would have made ideal weapons. And, in his mind, all he could hear was Mrs. Morgendorffer screeching about him being a slacker – not that she had ever been truly horrible to him, it was just she was a bit narky.

Daria quickly ducked into Jane's room, muttering a goodbye before dodging out of the room and skidding downstairs. Jane was left wondering rather suddenly what had happened, finding only one obvious cause for her best friend's grief. 'Trent, what did you do?'

Trent was sitting on his bed, strumming at his guitar and examining the lyrics Daria had left. 'Do what?'

'Daria just stumbled downstairs and out the front door…' Jane said carefully, like a cat prowling it's prey.

'Oh… yeah… well…'

The scream of 'what' could be heard from where Daria stood a good ten houses away.

_Monday was going to be – interesting…_she thought, her boots only just staying on her feet as she rushed home – even though she knew Jane would be calling her every ten minutes, assuming she didn't just come and invade Daria's house. With friend's like Jane, who needed invasive stalkers.

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	13. Weirder Than A ThreeHeaded Hamster

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**Chapter Thirteen; Weirder Than A Three-Headed Hamster**

Daria arrived home with her shoes on her feet and her head fairly muddled. She managed to get upstairs without much hassle, assuming that Quinn was out for her usual date with Jamie or Jimmy or whoever it was this time. Her dad and mom were probably just out doing miscellaneous little jobs or unsuccessfully trying to rekindle their relationship. Daria surmised that everything came down to relationships – the idea twisted her stomach in a horrid way, forcing the girl to seclude herself into her room. She had about four weeks until her birthday, let alone the tests and essays she had due.

After a few hours of solid work, she received a one-sided call from Jane where she assured Jane she was fine, that she wasn't filing a lawsuit and that she wasn't going postal. The Lane siblings seemed to have a very narrow scope on Daria's coping abilities, especially after a kiss as – as – her mind flicked she heard Jane.

'Good to hear you're talking. Trent seems to have slunk off to a shadowy corner.. I tried prodding him with a stick, but he just groaned at me.'

'Try a cattle prod, it'd get a better reaction.'

'On you or him?'

A few hours later Daria received a visit from her mother, a woman full of useful advice – when it suited her. 'So how was your day?' she asked from the corner of her mouth, her mother-dar screeching… she knew something was wrong, Daria must have given it off with some sudden movement like a blink or a hand movement.

'Just visited Jane – did homework… is the TV broken?'

'No, I just feel like we haven't spoken in ages,' Helen laughed, her arms tightly crossed as she examined Daria's room. 'We need to redecorate… it feels like someone died in here,'

'What make you think – y'know, never mind,' Daria shook her head, sinking onto her bed and flicking the TV on. Sick, Sad world seemed to be having a 'Best Of' that night, with nothing original flickering across the screen.

'If you really want him to notice you -' Daria looked to her mother for the first time in their conversation, '-maybe make a little more – effort. You're a beautiful young woman Daria, it's time the world saw it too…'

'Gee mom, you're starting to sound like the hallmark card you've so longed to become.'

'Thanks dear. I'm going down to make dinner now,' Helen said with a caustic little smile and laugh.

'It's eleven at night,'

Helen's phone began to chime, 'Oh it must be Eric,' she laughed once more before scampering off to do whatever it was she did with her time. Daria didn't have any idea what her parents did outside of playing the antagonising parents to her oppressed teen self – not that they did a very good job at playing that part. Daria thanked her lucky stars, narrowly avoiding an awkward explanation that she knew what sex _was. _Flicking the TV back off, she ambled over to her computer and flicked the screen back on – thankfully she hadn't had to explain that she had only been at Jane's for a few hours and that she had actually spent most the day refining a story… let alone a _romance_ story. The idea still sounded so foreign to her. But with great difficulty, she continued her story.

---

'So who wrote these lyrics?' Nick asked, a smile crossing his face, 'We should get them to write for us more…'

'Well, for now, it's a solo piece…' Trent pointed out, scratching at the back of his neck for a moment. Max seemed to perk at these words, eyes narrowed at Trent.

'Solo piece? Are you trying to ditch us? That is so not _criminale,'_ Max whined. Jesse and Nick shrugged, turning their attention to Trent for an answer. They were met with an aloof little sigh and a turned face. 'So it's for a girl… Monique, right?' Max said with a jeered smirk, tucking a hand under his chin, 'Trying to win her back, or woo her a little more?'

Trent counteracted this comment with a seasoned glare, but it came across as a neutral sort of distain.

'Well… who's it for then?' he asked pointedly, running a hand over his head – he seemed unused to the baldness, trying to muse his non-existent hair before letting the hand drop. Nick and Jesse seemed as eager for an answer, though in a grunge band, eagerness was hard to measure. Trent shook his head once more and began strumming his guitar, 'You can find out – later,' he accented this with a strum of his guitar strings, his eyes darting up to the three males standing around him. They seemed content with the answer they received this time, deciding they wouldn't get _anything _out of Trent unless he wanted to express it.

---

Daria arrived at school on the Monday to find Jane already there. She seemed to be handing out some kind of a flyer – 'Mystik Spyral' seemed to be the largest title, however at the distance she stood all she could make out was an oversized 'D'.

As she approached, Jane handed her one of the flyers with a cat-like smirk. 'You're invited to this year's biggest bash, courtesy of Mystik Spiral…' the gesture was met with a grown, 'What? I wanted to make this big. So we're not just the outcasts; we're the best damn party hostesses ever!' Jane seemed elated at the idea, practically bouncing.

'And your parents are…?'

'Entirely oblivious. I mean, the worst that happens is a broken window or a broken chair… and my parents wouldn't even notice – everything's broken after all!'

'Famous last words,' Daria pointed out, tucking the invitation into her book. 'I like how it fails to mention that it's my party…'

'It does!' Jane whipped out another invitation, pointing out the slightly impossible to read font that boasted the party was for Daria's 18th.

'And how many coffees have you had?'

'Enough to keep me chipper, sir,' Jane responded, still smiling and acting way too pleased for a Monday morning. Daria supposed Jane did seem the type to want to throw parties and get drunk beyond all belief – but she doubted Jane was presented many opportunities. This thought in mind, she allowed Jane the pleasure of handing out numerous flyers, watching people either worm their way out of the invite or promise false promises.

Daria doubted any of them would turn up, seeing as neither herself nor Jane was all that popular… If it had been _Quinn _or Brittany's party, it would have been a different story with different responses.

'I also seem to recall a certain someone kissed someone else's brother -'

'Since when do I have a brother?'

Jane met this comment with a stare, her previous fanatic approach to flyers beginning to diminish.

'… we did,' Daria admitted in a tiny voice, 'but I doubt he realised it was me – I must've looked like Monique to him.'

Jane let out a laugh, scratching her neck, 'Yeah, Trent and Monique broke up again – he's been asking about you a lot though… I mean, a lot,' Jane added as if it helped reaffirm some kind of a point. She pushed her hair out of her eyes for a moment, a concerned expression replacing her previous indifference. 'It's weird.'

'More than the three-headed hamster in science…'

'Vow of silence on the topic till it gets – less weird?'

'Best idea.'

With that agreement inmind, Jane and Daria chose to ignore that the playful goal the pair had held of becoming sister-in-laws with the slightest bit more real – at least, with the initial gap filled. Daria just had to find some reason or another to squirm out of this relationship like she had with Tom…

---

'Guys, if you don't stop asking me I'll call the cops and tell them you're smuggling cocaine,' Trent mumbled, a hand pressed over his eyes as he layed on the couch. Nick, Jesse and Max all seemed to take the hint, all surmising a reason they had to leave band practice early. Trent was thankful the band meeting had moved to the couch, as it allowed him the ability to simply fall straight to sleep…

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	14. Making Sweet Music Together

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**Chapter 14; Making Sweet Music Together****  
**

She supposed, in some cosmic way, it only made sense.

Daria plodded along the mall of the millennium, ignoring doo-dads and whozits scattered about. In a place so morally corrupt, it seemed as if there was nothing she could do but walk by all the heinous doings of others. And, of course, she eventually arrived at her ideal location. A smile sprawled out across her face for a split-second before dropping back to monotone indifference.

'Wally's Watches and Winches' Daria mumbled, her hands dug into her pockets. Daria didn't know why they sold winches and watches in the same store, but again, she ignored this minor detail and entered the store. With a barely suppressed disgust at the store's overpriced and 'family-friendly' approach to winches and watches Daria began her search.

'Welcome to Wally's Watches and Winches, where wondrous wares wander,' a practiced clerk accidentally spat, a smile plastered across her face. _This was going to end badly_, she mused. The feeling seemed mutual as the clerk gave a diminutive cough, as if trying to gain more attention than she already had – bright purple uniforms hardly blended into the orange and yellow décor from the 70s.

'I'm looking for a watch -'

'A winch?'

'… Watch.'

The girl seemed puzzled still – of course, the term girl was a little forgiving, as she seemed at least 30 years old. Daria was reminded why she was going to college.

'Watch – y'know…' she looked around and pointed to the first watch she could see. The girl seemed to perk up, smiling like a hungry wolf.

'Oh, a _watch!'_

'Do you have any simple ones?' Daria asked, searching for the watches section. The girl bustled away, grabbing up a few watches and returning with the same smile plastered even more enthusiastically across her lips. She could smell the blood that was Daria's money.

After about twenty minutes of explaining the watch wasn't for herself (as the clerk had brought over a debauched pink, acidic lavender and other heinous colours), she settled on a rather naked looking, black-strapped watch with a silver face. Daria walked out of the little store with a shudder, vowing never to return – not even if she wanted a winch (or figured out what they actually do).

And, as she retreated for something less wholesome, she could feel the piercing glare directed at her back. The paper bag was clutched in her right hand as she exited the Mall of the Milleni-Dumb, catching the bus back to Lawndale. W_hat a waste of a day_, she resentfully mourned; the constant fiddling with the paper bag to remind her it hadn't been a total loss, keeping her from being too agitated by her trip.

---

'Hey Jane,' Daria said with a small inflection in her voice – higher than usual, but only to the trained ear of Daria-talk.

'Someone's chipper,' Jane purred, a sarcastic inflection of her own.

'I'm over the moon,' Daria quipped back, entering the house without much of an invitation. 'Is Trent here?' she asked over her shoulder. As she received a shrug and a yawn in response, the answer was evident. 'He's asleep still?'

'Assuming he came home last night? Yeah.'

'That's just great.'

'Aw, I like you chipper.' A beat passed before Jane shrugged once more. 'Go wake him up.'

'No thanks.'

'Go on, I'm sure your bright little smile might warm his heart – assuming he's not catatonic.'

Daria shot Jane a dark look before wandering up the stairs and reluctantly walking into Trent's room. She knew there was no point fighting Jane about this, seeing as the other girl was hell-bent on making Daria uncomfortable. She hadn't spoken to Trent since – well – the – Daria's mind faltered, her footsteps stopping entirely. She'd managed to repress the whole ordeal up til now – Trent and – they had.

Her mind was shot. It wasn't until Trent made a small noise in his slumber that she realised she was on a mission. Closing the space between herself and the bed, she stood beside Trent and nudged him with a slender finger. After a few moments he muttered something about the jelly doughnuts before rolling over onto his back.

'Trent, get up,' she muttered, shoving the alternate musician with her palm a few times before standing back. 'Damn it.'

'That's no way to do it!' Jane called from the door, flicking the lights on and off before walking over and booting her brother in the legs. Trent sat up at a lazy pace, blinking stupidly up a Daria and Jane before yawning.

'I had the weirdest dream… some jelly doughnut was jabbing me.'

'Mhh, doughnuts always have had a way of invading the domestic America...' Daria sighed and shook her head, the paper bag still tucked under her arm. After Trent had been jumpstarted with a coffee and a few moments of peace, Jane left them to their artistic pursuits for her own artistic pursuit; painting with pigments she'd ground herself.

Daria, on the other hand, was left with Trent, alone since the last time they had spoken and he was conscious this time. She fiddled with the paper bag for a few more moments before shrugging off her own discomfort. She had to put this out into the open before Trent could say anything else. 'I got you something,' she quickly stumbled, the words very rarely coming from her mouth.

Trent seemed to share the same foreign reception to the words. 'You got me something?' he asked warily, tucking his hands into his belt for a moment before carefully eyeing Daria. 'Sure you're Daria?'

'Only if you're Trent,' she joked, the gesture coming too naturally. She stiffened unsurprisingly, handing over the paper bag – Trent had extended his hand – and kept an eye on his expression under the rims of her glasses. A few failed attempts to pre-empt the present ended with a comment of hesitation; 'If you don't like it I'll return it.'

As Trent unravelled the present, an unreadable expression replaced his usual aloofness. 'A watch?' he rasped, tilting his head and picking it up by the band as if it would bite. He examined it for a moment before looking back to Daria.

'You never wear a watch.'

'Because I'm always late.'

'Don't you get sick of being late?'

'Yeah… but I can't change that.'

'… But if you wear a watch, you can keep track of the time. So you won't be late…'

Trent placed the watch back into the paper bag, shaking his head. 'It looks expensive… I don't think I can – y'know, accept it… I mean, I'm not worth it,' he faltered at the idea of berating himself compared to a watch as Daria went to snatch it back.

'Sorry -'

Trent held it out of her reach, noticing how Daria seemed to have switched from her barely noticeable happiness to her usual 'misery chick' persona and thought better of the gesture. Even if he didn't think he deserved the watch… she seemed to think he did.

'How far do I have to go to get a car?' Trent joked, taking out the watch and putting it on his wrist. He was met with a steely glare which made him falter back unnoticeably. The apology was unsaid, but instantly recognised. They seemed to need looks and few words to communicate. 'I didn't kiss you for the watch though.' He peered up at her from under his brow, his head curiously pressed forward.

'No, you did it for the car.'

'That was a joke.'

Daria shifted her hair over her shoulder, her eyes glazing over slightly. 'We have to work on that music…'

'Right… So that's a no to the car?' Trent asked as he began strumming a small tune on the guitar. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Daria pull a pillow out of no where. Within a few seconds they were having a momentary battle against the other, attempting to prove a point – whatever point it was. It was a feeble excuse for intimacy, for closeness, and for some semblance of a friendship. _Maybe more…_ Daria thought to herself, but the idea was knocked out of her as Trent knocked her with a thin pillow that was probably older than he was.

---

After a few hours, Trent had managed to chose two chords he liked – two that made up the first ten seconds of the music. Jane insisted it was something to be pleased about, seeing as they had all taken a break down in the kitchen and ordered pizza – they shared their artist's block rather openly, discussing whatever it was troubling them. Jane seemed to be struggling with the texture of her canvas, whereas Trent and Daria were just refusing to acknowledge each other outside of simplistic pleasantries. Jane noticed this, but chose to ignore it – she would only magnify the situation in ways that _no one_ needed if she questioned them.

'So, because the pizza's gone, I'm going back to my attempts at painting…'

'Using me for my pizza?' Daria said with a tilt to her head, eyes narrowed.

'You knew from the start this was all about the ham and mozzarella…' Jane said as she threw a hand to her forehead.

'Makes sense – all those years in Paris meant nothing, then?'

Jane just laughed and exited the kitchen – she had received a pointed look from Trent, assuming it was time for Daria and her brother to actually approach the situation like normal, functioning adults. Or put it off for another few months, as they tended to do. What was another few weeks on top of the year or two they'd spent dancing around one another?

Silence built with each second of Jane's sudden absence. They hummed, picked at the box, twiddled their fingers and coughed a few times… any gesture that could afford them a few moments of distraction. Until Trent purposeful issued a small cough in attempts to gain eye contact with the silent figure of Daria.

'Ever notice how the walls hold the roof up?' Trent wondered aloud, his fingers tapping audaciously against the tabletop as Daria picked cheese off the lid of the box. She had a few strands of the cheese laced across her lips, but removed them with a feeble lick of her tongue – he rubbed his eyes and turned his attention back to the table. 'So how long till we actually talk about it?' His words were rather unexpected, but by this point Daria had tried to adjust to the uncharacteristic gestures Trent had taken to. Perhaps they were entirely characteristic, but a side she was just never accustomed to receiving… it was probably a side he exposed to girls like Monique.

'Talk about what?' Daria gave an unimpressed raise of her right eyebrow, removing her glasses to rub at her eyes. Lately her eyes had been going under hellish strain, trying to cope with her glasses – she needed a new pair, with a better prescription and (what she hoped was) thinner lenses. With this thought in mind, she left her glasses on the table – this way she couldn't actually make out Trent's face, meaning she didn't really have to acknowledge him all that much.

With this gesture, Trent scratched his own eyebrow and examined Daria once more, 'I guess the whole thing between us.'

'Keep going.'

'Why do I have to lead the discussion? It makes me feel – uneasy.'

'I'm playing a violin just for you,' Daria said as she propped her head up on her hand, eyes narrowed slightly. The lack of vision was starting to make her head feel a little lighter, the stress-induced headache ebbing.

Trent stared with pursed lips at his hands, feeling like he was being scolded for his actions. 'It was a spur-of-the-moment thing…' he pointed out, shiftly gazing from his hands to Daria, then back again. 'I mean, if you really didn't enjoy it, I won't do it again –'

Daria felt her hand slip as she fell forward slightly, 'It's not that.'

'You're acting like you're mad or something.' Trent was clearly getting uneasy, rarely ever being forced to place his emotions and explanations on the table. Daria took this moment to tug her glasses back on, her eyes darting start back to Trent as she did so.

'I just meant that it didn't matter if it was sudden or spur-of-the-moment…' she felt red tinge build in her cheeks, her eloquence fading as she tried to formulate thoughts and speak at the same time.

'So you're _not_ mad?' he asked, amused that the situation now had Daria admitting whatever it was she had to admit.

The words 'of course' stumbled from her mouth before she reaffirmed, 'Of course I'm not mad. Just not keeping up with my hormones -' Daria regretted the wording straight away but didn't bother to correct herself.

Trent felt a self-assured smile suppress itself as he peered up at her once more from under his brow, 'Fair enough. Listen Daria, if you _didn't_ like it – why did you kiss me the second time?'

With that, Daria fell a beat-red, and stood up. 'Excuse me for a moment.'

'Daria?'

All that followed was a loud 'eep', the girl now sitting on the couch rather stunned at Trent's ability to recall the second kiss; he seemed out of it more than usual that night, but he'd kept that detail? The very idea had made Daria physically recoil to a dim corner of the house. Her ruse failed, however, as Trent simply swaggered after her, his tousled hair more unruly than ever.

'Wanna we go make some music?' Trent asked from the kitchen doorway, his hip cocked out and his arm slung against the doorway. Her mind raced for a few seconds before she sobered, her eyes squinting in the darkness. Daria shot him a rather dirty look.

'… Not… I meant, actually go make some music. You teenagers…' Trent chuckled with a gentle curve to his lips as he ascended the stairs. Daria followed soon after, her cheeks now a tinted pink and her hands gripped tightly at her sides. He wanted to know what thoughts were running through her mind, but he bet anything it was something he'd never get to find out. It was the way she wanted things, and Daria had a way of keeping the world they way she wanted it.

---

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	15. Artists Do It Better

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**Chapter Fifteen: Artists Do It Better**

With this horrible resolution in mind, Trent and Daria went back up to Trent's hovel and begun working at their music once more. Daria was thankful that Trent seemed to be working at a faster pace than usual; he was almost a man possessed compared to the usual sloth-like persona she was used to. He still seemed to have issues with the idea of a deadline, but he had offered this time – and, with only a few weeks left till she was 18 and Trent realising he needed the music done, he had pulled himself together. Something told Daria he had stopped smoking as much as he usually did, though that was just a small guess.

Brought back from her broad musings, Daria turned to face Trent. He seemed to be musing deeply about something a simple as a sound, causing Daria to allow a gentle smile to pass her lips – for a moment. A dull furrowed brow told her that the older male clearly had something in the works. Another part of her mind told her she didn't _need _to be here. 'So G minor…' his voice lulled, eyes trailing between the chord he was strumming and Daria's face. He noticed she wasn't paying attention.

In all honesty, the more Daria thought about it, the more it became apparent. She didn't need to be here for his actual composition of the music, though it gave the suppressed girlish instincts a chuckle. Her mind perpetually screamed about the unnecessary amount of time they had spent together over the past few weeks. Of course, her hormonally-addled heart didn't care. 'Just like D and A and all the other notes I agreed with… you know I don't get music. Not the same way you do…'

'I'm not all that great,' Trent pointed out as he ran through the song he had thus far, singing and playing as he went. Eventually he managed to get through without the notes or the lyrics – the pure implication of it made Daria smile inwardly.

'Still better than me, though practise couldn't hurt,' Daria countered, scratching absently at her elbow before she stood up.

'Where're you going?'

'Home… it's 5 in the afternoon,' Daria said in mild disbelief.

Trent hesitantly looked around for a clock before seeing the foreign flash of an analogue clock on his wrist. 'Damn, you're right.' His teeth were grit against his own annoyance, a small sliver of contempt coming through. He didn't want Daria, his current muse, to leave. 'Too bad you have school tomorrow.'

'Yeah, I'd hate to miss Mr. O'Neil crying to himself or DeMartino screaming.' Daria had gathered her things together and given Trent a wave.

'I'll give you a ride home.'

'I can walk.'

Trent just shook his head and stood up, placing the guitar aside. 'I owe you.'

'For what?'

'The watch…' he paused, a smile spreading across his face, 'and just for being a half-decent high school chick – I wish there'd been girls like you when I'd gone to high school… I wouldn't have flunked algebra so badly.'

'Fair point… but maths isn't my strong point.' With that sentiment the two fell quiet. The compulsion to head out to the car was shot when Daria examined Trent's lean tattooed arms, roughly tousled hair and lean frame – he had nice shoulders from what she could see, though Daria wasn't sure why she noticed or even cared. Daria didn't have a doubt in her mind he wouldn't remain some two-bit hack musician in the suburbs… he practically oozed the right kind of appeal for a band, especially with the progression in the music industry – Daria reacted a little later than she would have liked to.

'Trent?' Daria mumbled against his lower chest, awkwardly patting him on the sides with her hands. He seemed to have hugged her in the midst of her mental analysis. This was for the better, as it left her no time to flinch away or become afraid.

Trent offered no explanation or reason for the hug as he walked out of the room and downstairs. Daria said a horribly quick goodbye to Jane, feeling as if she had been neglecting her best friend this entire time. They would have pizza, sit at lunch together during school hours, and… probably do something else together. They rarely ever did anything exciting with one another.

---

'So how many people are going to be attending this _little _party of yours?' Daria asked as she busily sifted through sheets of paper and empty pens.

'About… eh… our whole class, a few other people and their dates…' Jane lied, idly fiddling with her nose. 'What would you say to me getting a nose piercing?' Jane prodded her nose a few times, raising an eyebrow.

'That many?'

'No, just one piercing.'

'I meant people. What are you expecting this party to end up as?' Daria ran her hands down her face as she gave up on the papers. They had a test for history and, despite her ease at the subject, she felt a nervous twitch to study and make sure she knew it all. Jane countered this perceived hostility with a pout.

'It might be nice to pretend to be cool for a night -'

'People getting drunk at your house is something that's considered cool and something you want to do? When did the aliens take you and brainwash you?' Daria pushed all her belongings into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. The party was, in actuality, that Friday. And with the week going by so quickly, the two girls could hardly organise a thing.

'Daria, it's not a big deal… we'll just end up watching everyone else act stupid and remember it for blackmail.'

'Sounds like a wholesome Friday night that we can _all_ look forward to missing.'

'That's my girl,' Jane thankfully coddled, afraid she would upset Daria with her plans… in truth, the two were also going through an oddly tenuous period due to the stress of school and the prolonged familiarity. Loners weren't meant to settle down with other people, especially not other loners. And as if this wasn't enough of a reason for them to be out of sorts, Trent and Daria's budding _thing_ was also making Jane the teeniest bit – confused and jealous were the emotions that best excused her horrid gut-instinct something bad was going to happen.

---

Friday approached with little hassle, with Daria holed up in her room and desperate for something to wear. Her green parka, her green parka or her green parka – the decisions were impossible. Eventually she was dressed and ready to go. However as she passed the mirror in the hallway, her footsteps slowly halted. Her hair looked ragged, her skin was deathly pale, there were dots all over her face; she could see a few odd blotches of red and the sleep-deprived signs of bags. All of this made her cringe and examine further, leaning into the mirror with a suddenly critical eye.

'Daria this isn't the bathroom y'know,' Quinn flared, walking passed and dressed up to the nines. She was clearly about to go on a date, her hair twirled up, makeup slathered on her face and a pair of shoes that made her look all the more elegant. Daria felt her mind jealously reel, but her physical appearance showed no reaction to her obvious aggravation.

A barb or two rested on the tip of her tongue but she pulled the comments back and chewed at her slightly cracked bottom lip. The feeling of her lips made her cringe all the more as she walked off towards the bathroom.

'Aren't you going out tonight? For your party or whatever?' Quinn asked, her hand elegantly propped against her hip. She was practised in the art of hand placement when she stood – it sickened Daria to the core.

'Mhh… I'm going out to sacrifice someone to my various gods,' the barb fell flat, Daria's expression faltering once more as she was faced with her reflection in the hallway mirror. She heard the voice of her aunt run through her mind. '_You're going to hell anyway_,' she sighed under her breath before letting her head drop the slightest bit. 'Quinn, how much time do you have till your date gets here?'

'Which one?'

Daria shook her head and withheld another comment, hopeful she wouldn't regret the decision to reach out to her younger sister. In 'fighting' with Jane she found herself reassessing her relationships with others… and the worst off was Quinn. Despite Quinn's obvious capabilities, she never tried to do any better than those around her until the summer that had just passed. And, even though Daria had only heard the progress Quinn had made, it made her a little proud that her sister wasn't entirely vapid. Her sister had even managed to answer the question that stumped most students; 'what was the phrase, _manifest destiny_'.

'One time offer to smother me in makeup.' Daria felt her stomach drop a little at the sound of her own words. Quinn seemed to actually _jump_, quickly running off to her room and returning with clothing, accessories and a case of makeup. 'That'll do Quinn, that'll do,' Daria said almost unnoticeably, mentally imagining herself selling her soul to the Fashion Club.

'Prussian Blue is _always_ a good bet, especially if you use Vermillion Vixen to soften the impact. I always find that…'

The words faded off into nothingness as Quinn begun to work, barely able to put more than a few swabs of each colour on before Daria would insist on checking what her sister was doing. As much trust as she had in her sister, there was no telling what sort of a clown she would end up as.

---

'So we're playing _Delayed Investment_, _Coffeehouse Confidentiality_ and then…' Max looked through the list, eyes flickering between Trent and Nick as he did so. 'Then Trent is going to use his stage presence to woo some barely legal girl and – ow!' Max received a very noticeable push in the shoulder along with a narrowed glare from Nick.

'Funny the first hundred times, can you just keep reading?' Max just glared at Nick. 'Please?' Nick hesitantly pleaded, looking between Max and Trent now.

Trent was lost in his own focus, his eyes flickering between his wristband and his rings, trying to find something to fiddle with. He was getting actual butterflies before a performance for the first time since their battle of the bands a few years back. As he was about to say something to continue the discussion, Jesse turned up in his usual leather-vested glory.

'You get the stuff?' Trent asked, slinging his arm over the back of the seat.

'This is gonna be the best house party ever,' Jesse beamed in his own way as he wheeled in a fair amount of alcohol. He probably intended to finish off most of the alcohol himself, along with Trent and Nick (as Max rarely drank).

'Can we try and keep it legal though?' Nick asked from the corner, his fingers tapping against the table. His bass was propped up against the wall, the case half-opened. They had just finished a practise and tuning session in preparation for the evening.

'As long as we're responsible, mature adults it'll be fine…' The four started laughing, an amused gaggle of laughs that rarely occurred in unison. Max stood up and helped Jesse out with the drinks and foods he'd been sent out to gather as Nick and Trent ran over some cleaning issues.

'A gig in your own home – wonder if any other band as done it before…'

'Probably. But you'd never hear about it.' Trent explained.

'Ohhh…' Nick said with a small smile, tapping his fingers on the table.

---

At 7 o'clock, Jane and Trent had managed to clean and set up some kind of arrangement in the house. There was food laying around for people to scout out, ample sitting areas as well as the low ambient roar of some band or another to tide the early arrivals. 'Well partner, I say we did alright…' Jane smiled, her artistic side coming out to show. She was, for a lack of better words, sans her usual attire. She had replaced the shorts and shirt with black jeans and a loose shirt that boasted 'Artists Do It Better' – a shirt Trent kept half-glaring at. Her combat boots happily remained, nestled snugly under the pants leg.

'It's a bunch of high school kids who probably can't tell the difference between A-major and A-minor.' Trent seemed to think this was enough of a disgrace as he plucked at his shirt. He was wear dressier attire than usual, a clean pressed black shirt and black jeans, a combination he usually tried to avoid. The belt he wore helped to distract the eye, a studded leather thing that hung tightly to his hips.

'Do you know the difference?' Jane quipped, crossing her arms and smiling at Trent.

'When's Daria supposed to get here?'

'I knew had no idea what the difference was either.' Jane grinned, her eyes flickering to the door as she heard a knock. 'How much you want to bet the cosmic forces are against us and that's her right now?'

'How does a slice of pizza sound?' Trent asked as he walked over to answer the door, his attention still on Jane.

'Sounds like a bet.'

---

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	16. Guylinered Guitarist

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**Chapter Sixteen; Guylinered Guitarist**

Despite the cosmic forces usually working against Trent, it wasn't Daria at the door. Donned in their usual Lawndale uniforms, Brittany and Kevin appeared with smiles on their faces and hesitant movements in the doorway. Trent stared down at the matching couple. After a few quiet moments, Trent stood aside and stared out to the street with a slight earnest he rarely possessed.

'Hey kids,' Jane happily chimed, stepping over and inviting them in.

'Hello Jane! Thanks for inviting me and Kevvy, I wasn't sure like, if anyone else was going to come, but then Jodie said she was coming with Mack and then Angie and Nikki also said they were coming… so I didn't want to miss out and be unpopular.' After a few more high-pitched, dulcet whines from Brittany and the obligatory comment from Kevin, they scampered off in search of something to drink.

'Glad you could make it…' Jane half-heartedly called after them with a small raise of her eyebrow. 'They should entertain themselves for a while… maybe they'll find something shiny to look at,' Jane mused happily, seeing a few more arrivals. She was actually quite excited to see people turning up. In truth, she had never had a party at her own house, even in spite of the lack of parents. Up till Daria's arrival, she didn't even have any proper friends. The thought was shaken out of her as Quinn and her date turned up, toting a girl dressed to the nines.

'Woah Nellie,' Jane hummed aloud, her hands coming to rest on her hips. 'Is that my little Daria Morgendorffer?' Jane laughed distinctly, stepping aside to let Quinn enter with Jamie, or Jimmy, or Jerry. Her attention was entirely on the petite figure sporting a skirt and shirt entirely characteristic but unexpected.

'Fashion Club attacked,' Daria pointed out, her hand waggling at her face – she was wearing mascara, blush, eye shadow, lipstick, though none of it was particularly outlandish. Subtle, natural, and above all else, classy.

'Did you use the mace I gave you?' Jane mock-scolded, allowing a few more party-goers enter as she talked to Daria. Jane noted the awkward way Daria was holding herself in the black pencil skirt and emerald shirt; the thought made her laugh again.

'Didn't get a chance…'

'Fair enough…' A laugh resounded once more.

'Stop laughing,' Daria complained unnoticeably, her arms crossing across her chest. With a forceful glare at the taller girl, Jane backed down and let Daria slink off into the shadows. It seemed only fair, as vanity was something Daria avoided like the plague ever since she had bought those contacts. Rather slowly, Trent moseyed his way over to Jane. After a few seconds of unexplained silence, Trent and Jane exchanged a small shrug that seemed akin to their lackadaisical approach to life.

'What's up?' Jane asked with a forced air of formality, knowing that Trent wanted something but hadn't bothered to explain what that something was.

'Not much. The band is setting up.'

'And you came over to…?'

'I heard – anyone else arrived?' Trent asked, not wanting to be so blatant in his questioning. Of course, he missed the mark entirely. He was fiddling with his hands as he waited for the answer, his eyes darting about the room with barely latent intentions. He was never very good at hiding ewhat he wanted, or even in being assertive… all Trent seemed to be able to do was act the part of the lazy sloth-like boor.

'Just Daria.'

Jane slipped away from the door, allowing Trent a few moments to mull over what he had been told. In sheer annoyance he scratched at his tattoo on his left forearm and looked around. He didn't have much time till the band had to start playing and he wanted to have a few words with her – just to see if she wanted to be credited for her lyrics or whatever the arrangement would become. Of course, there was more than that to his line of questioning. He walked around the room, unable to spot the petite brunette in amongst the plastic girls that lined the walls and chairs. A few seemed to pique at his appearance but he ignored it. High school girls rarely had anything worthwhile to say outside of their measurements and what their favorite color was.

Deciding that it was impossible to find Daria, Trent walked outside and stepped up the makeshift stand. He and Jane had managed to concoct a stage from the leftover wood from their old gazebo. As he set up his guitar and amps, there was a silence over the gaggles of girls that usually wouldn't shut up. With a small stretch and a yawn he looked out over the crowd to see a few waggling their fingers as if they expected reciprocations of a smile or a wave back. He managed a few shallow gestures like a nod of the head or a smile, but kept looking for Daria.

He supposed it was his own fault for letting Jane put some of her black eye gunk on him – she'd called it 'guyliner', and apparently girls dug it. A look of shock crossed his features as he finally spotted Daria – she was being forcefully totted along by Jane.

'Woah.' He mumbled a few words to his band members about stalling as he slid off the stage to walk over to Daria. 'Happy birthday,' Trent said with a small hug and a pat on the head. He wasn't sure what gesture would fit their current relationship, especially considering the kids standing around and the girls who were still eyeing him off from the corner of the yard.

'First person to say it,' Daria mumbled, her face turned away and her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She seemed disturbed by the lack of attention, but at the same time acted entirely unapproachable. Trent let out a small sigh and looked at Jane.

'Hey, I said happy birthday,' Jane defended before waggling an eyebrow at Trent's glare. 'Gee, I suddenly feel like a drink. See you in a minute Daria.' With that awkward dismissal Jane trotted off to talk to Jodie in hushed whispers. It was slightly uncharacteristic, but Daria was too busy to notice. Her attention was busy wavering from Trent to the rest of the party-goers, though she was still tempted to up and leave. Big parties weren't here thing.

After a moment or two of silence, Daria turned her attention up to Trent with a soured pout. 'Aren't you going to laugh too?' Her barely implicit anger bubbled over as she crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from the older man.

'Laugh at what? You're looking hot… and ah…' Trent shrugged, scratching at the back of his head as he looked between the crowd and the girl awkwardly shuffling in front of him. He decided he didn't really care all that much about what people thought and bent down to peck the girl on the cheek. Taking relish in the hot blush that grew on her cheeks as he drew back, he waved a ringed hand at her before climbing back onto the stage.

'_He's still wearing the watch.' _Daria thought with a gentle smile, her eyes dropping from the stage to the ground as she contemplated going home and changing. That was before Trent sent a wink her way. With this gesture in mind, she decided her outfit was not something to repeat but something she could enjoy for the moment. Her hair wasn't as frou-frou as she first thought and her faint make-up was bearable… as long as Trent kept sending casual glances her way, that is.

'We're Mystik Spiral, and we're thinking of changing out name…' Trent gave a small count in before they started playing the song 'Icebox Woman'.

After a few songs, the band took their intermission. The crowd had matured somewhat, with Trent's usual crowd appearing at the large home. Jane had made a point of barring off the upstairs rooms and the basement, but people still kept sneaking off to do whatever it was they intended to do. Daria shuddered shallowly at the image of Brittany and Kevin smashed up against Jane's easel or Trent's guitar racks – the image was soon remedied when she saw Brittany and Kevin having a fight off in the distance.

'Babe, I didn't know she wasn't you!'

'A li-ke-ly story!' Brittany called back with her usual inflections.

A few dull shakes of her head allowed her the sobriety to breathe easily. She had accepted _one_ drink from Jane, feeling that the watered-down keg was best left to the college dropouts and the girls like Quinn – assuming Quinn drank. Daria didn't want the answer to this question, her arms still languidly draped over her sides.

Trent approached once more, but Daria was more prepared for his arrival this time. 'Enjoy the set?' he asked as casual conversation starter.

'It was alright.' The pair seemed to edge away from the rest of the party at the question, with Trent idly slipping beside Daria in some unspoken agreement. They stopped as they reached a quieter spot in the party nearby the stairs, their attention dwindling from the sounds and sights of the bustling party. Turning to examine a painting placed carefully against the wall, Trent fidgeted with his watch. 'How's it been? With the watch?'

'Oh. I've been late less, Max and Nick are considering turning me into the police and demanding I tell them where the real Trent is…' Daria laughed very quietly but was met with a serious lift to Trent's eyebrow. Once again, their actions seemed to speak volumes more than anything they could utter. Daria slumped her back against the wall as Trent continued to distract himself with the placid painting of a field.

'I'm thinking of playing our song next.'

'It's finished?' Daria asked in mild shock, her breath catching in her throat. She felt an unwelcomed and unexpected dryness rise in her at the idea her lyrics would be sung to a bunch of her peers. 'But… It's not even that good. The lyrics are so flat and boring.'

'I like it – and I composed all that music in less than a month…' Trent pointed out as if it were an accomplishment.

'Look, you proved your point. You got it finished. But I don't know what anyone will think…' Daria felt a pang of upset, the idea of criticism hitting her where it hurt most. She could mock all she liked and write things that never mattered, but the moment her classmates were brought into the equation she lost all faith in her writing. Pushing away from the wall she reluctantly stared up at Trent. 'Don't play it.'

Trent seemed physically ill at the idea. He seemed to droop, his eyes narrowed and his general aura seemed to wilt. 'But Daria, you can't make me hide something like that… I mean, that song really speaks to me,' he paused, the words sounding stupid coming from his mouth. 'What if I just play it, don't tell anyone who wrote it? Leave you anonymous?'

Daria couldn't believe she was having this discussion with Trent, the idea he was practically begging her to let him play the song – as if he still needed to prove something to her in this moment. Tapping her fingers on her arm for a few moments she shrugged. 'If you really want to…' She was met with a hug once more, Trent's arms tightly winding around her shoulders and pulling her into his chest. The affection was somewhat terrifying, but something she had awkwardly grown accustomed to. Her arms remained curled up in front of her as he held her to his chest, her energy now concentrated on remaining upright.

'Thanks.' Trent's voice was as soothing as ever, his eyelids draped low over his eyes. 'Come watch though.' He and Daria remained standing in this hug for a few moments before she found herself being relinquished from the other's chest. She couldn't help but notice Trent was actually wearing eyeliner. 'You're wearing makeup?'

'So're you.' Trent smirked, his tongue making a playful swipe across his teeth – Daria felt her eyes widen in surprise and annoyance at the motion, finding it a surprisingly predatory gesture. Before she was allowed to voice her own indignation with him he bent down and kissed her flush on the lips. No trepidation of her pulling back apparent, they remained in the chaste gesture for a few seconds before Trent seemed to vanish.

'God damn.' Daria pressed her hand to her forehead, her eyes tightly shut as her contacts begun to sting and her heart began to try and pump itself to an early grave.

'Makes sense.' A voice mused from the foot of the staircase. A rather acidic smile seeped into Daria's blurred vision. 'How're you Daria?'

'Tom?' Daria managed, snatching up a drink from the table, which she quickly drowned herself in. Her throat crackled when she spoke and her cheeks were a dull shade of red. 'I'm good… you?'

'I've been alright. Just wondering why you've decided a farmer who gets paid to grow nothing is the best option for your future… But exes can't be choosers I guess.'

_Future?_ Daria felt her heart jump, her mind finally catching up with her. How long had Tom been slinking around? Better yet, what was Tom doing at her birthday party? She found her lips parted in useless defence, her hands now empty and clutched by her sides.

---

'We're Mystik Spiral, back from the intermission. I've got a solo piece that – ah – was written for the birthday girl. Where is she – Daria?'

The voice echoed through the house and hit Daria in the face. She quickly walked out of the precarious little corner she had previously been standing in before stumbling outside to hear the last refrain of the song. Had it taken her so long to get outside? To actually move and go outside? Her eyes quickly darted to the stage to see Trent playing out the last note with noticeable enthusiasm – had he noticed her absence? All these thoughts were cutting away at her mentality, her eyes darting around the yard as she tried to find a familiar face that wasn't Tom or Trent.

'I wrote that song, you know.' A familiar girl coddled, her eyes darting between some youthful seniors that were hung up on her every word. Her hair was as black and fluffed up as ever.

'Monique, you're so talented. And modest.' A girl giggled, nodding and smiling up at the woman named Monique.

With that, Daria cracked. Monique was here and was claiming the song was hers; Tom was here and had seen her and Trent – she didn't know if this was upsetting as she found it, but it seemed that her mind wandered. Without much thought she took a small breath and headed up for Jane's room. The slight inebriation was starting to kick in, making her feel as if she had been spun in hundreds of circles.

A discarded wall hanging lay on the floor proposing a '_Happy Birthday' – _she wondered if anyone knew who's birthday it was, and why they had bothered to hide this under the guise of a birthday. Why not call it a huge boozed up teen party and be done with it. _Happy birthday Morgendorffer… _she thought to herself as several passers by trampled on the redundant sign.

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	17. Smoke Signals

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**Chapter Seventeen;**** Smoke Signals**

'Trent, just start,' Nick urged from the sidelines. Daria wasn't in the crowd, nor could he think of a reason for her _not_ to be… especially as he had just seen her standing by the stairs. A familiar figure flashed through his mind, a small 'o' forming across his face. Even though he was on stage, he seemed frozen. Hadn't he seen Tom? Perhaps he'd left Daria alone with Tom and they're reconciled. Trent felt as if he'd skipped a few breaths, taking in a stilted little gasp before announcing the title of the song and strumming a few introductory notes.

_For sorrowful acts  
There's a broken commitment  
For therapists to make their dollar  
I turn up and you're unavailable _

Everyone was definitely paying attention. Lacking his usual rasped tones and forced annunciation, Trent had spent weeks practising to sing from a different part of himself. He wasn't singing to heighten the image of the band as a grungy alternative thing, nor was he singing to metal heads. He was singing to a bunch of teenagers, high on life and whatever else they got their hands on. And more importantly, he was singing to the girl who wrote the lyrics, even if she wasn't there.

The words continued to roll off Trent's tongue as if they had come from somewhere deep in his mind – his notes were almost flawless, the tinny note of guitar and pick colliding an accent he couldn't beat. His eyes trailed across the crowd, hoping he had just missed her… maybe she was still out there.

_So help me keep this good thing going  
Keep me in this state of second-guessing_

'Still no sign of her…' Trent fussed, his eyes occasionally sliding shut on the longer notes or the parts he felt needed it. He wished there had been some kind of part for the rest of his band, but felt this worked best as a guitar piece, for now. He'd see the crowd's reaction, see if it was worth writing out with drums and all.

_  
I'd be secure and blissful without you  
You close your eyes, tell me it's right_

Trent started to strum a little faster, his words becoming more powerful. The crowd was in near-silence as they watched him play out this solo like there was only a few seconds left; like he only had this chance to play guitar before he fell into permanent paralysis.

_Because without that, it's never alright  
But even then… it's never alright_

Finally he caught a glimpse of Daria within the crowd. He shot her a look of confusion, but he didn't think she noticed. Within a few moments, he realised everyone had been cheering and shouting for more. The band reassembled and they started on a new rendition of some of their older works. Trent kept this new voice, wondering if that was what made all the difference…

---

After the act, Daria had taken up residence in Jane's room. She was curled up on Jane's bed, reading a book she had stashed in her miniscule little bag. She didn't know why she had bothered to put any effort in, seeing as she was still no where near as pretty as Monique – the thought slapped her harder than anything she had imagined before, feeling her cheeks grow a dull red. What did she care – looks meant nothing in the real world. People thought about more things than appearances and how well you could gloat.

In her upset, her mind trailed far back into the night she had broken up with Tom… it seemed like an entirely irrelevant point of interest now, but a phrase stuck out in her mind. Despite Trent's attempt to compliment on the night she'd come from the date with Tom, Daria found her thoughts more distraught than ever. 'A girl as hot as her'… not 'as smart' or 'as funny'? She wouldn't let herself dwell on the matter too much, finding it a losing battle. What was she expecting from Trent, nay, any guy; some kind of amazing, intellectual gentleman who she could forever be asexual with? The idea seemed more impossible, if not insane. Jane was still downstairs, the two of them parting ways when Jane had seen Daria and Trent hanging out.

Jane eventually discovered the wilted wallflower in her room. With languor and drunkenness, Jane sunk onto the edge of her bed. She had ditched her high heels and taken her hair out, not wanting to fit in with the rest of the crowd they had managed to bring together.

'What's up?' Jane asked in a sighed tone, as if she didn't really want to be here. The truth was, she was just sick of the dramas downstairs and was thinking of going to bed. Of course, she only came to discover more dramas had unfolded outside of her knowledge.

'Saw Tom, and Monique. Tom saw me and Trent, Monique is busy stealing my song lyrics…' Daria examined her book before letting it slide shut.

'I saw Tom… I fought with Tom. We shall now ignore Tom's existence, alright? And, as for Monique… I know my brother better than any _woman_ he's dated, Daria. He's different around you, he _likes_ you… Monique was just a little bit of soul-searching for him, and her trying to up her profile. If you saw them together, all he does he grunt and agree when he's suppose to, while she just rambles about her clothes and – it's different with you, and I'm sorry I have to tell you this.'

'It's fine. He and Monique seemed happy -'

'Welcome to Delusional, population; you. Please feel free to visit the gift shop and get some sense.'

'Lucky you're an artist, not a comedian.'

'I dunno, my singing has been said to bring people to tears.'

'Of pain, maybe.'

The weight on the bed lifted momentarily, being quickly replaced by something heavier. Footsteps exited the room and before Daria knew it, she was being hugged by Trent. Hugged, the thought seemed entirely foreign to her. Resisting the urge to push away, she took a guilty little sniff – it wasn't as she had imagined, his musk being a lot less abrasive than she had expected – or remembered.

'Ever had a pizza stuff itself down your throat before?'

'… I can't say I have,' Daria said in a shuddered breath, peering up at Trent.

'Well, Monique is kinda like that… did you know she's 27?'

'… I also can't say I knew that.' Daria hesitantly eyed Trent, sitting up, her arm coming to rest on her knees, 'where's Monique?' she asked with interest, her eyes switching to the doorway of the room.

'Hitting on that quarterback kid, I think. She's had a bit to drink,' he shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck, 'I'm sorta sick of this… y'know, being driven by someone as creatively void as a plank of wood… she has no passion in her lyrics…'

'She tried to claim that my lyrics were hers – people believed her.' Daria rushed a hand through her hair, trying to get it to sit back down… it had started to curl against the will of the straightener, but in the long run she liked it better natural.

'She does that a lot…'

'Mhh.' Daria fumbled her hair back over her shoulder before slipping away from Trent. She scuffled together her shoes and bag before heading towards the door, her mind reeling at the fact Trent was going to let her go –

'Like the song?'

'I didn't get to hear it.'

'...oh.' Trent pulled a knee up to his chest, his eyes averted to the floor. After a moment he stood up and hooked an arm around Daria's elbow. 'Then come and listen to it.' He let out a small coughed laugh, one that Daria hadn't heard for some time. It was a relief.

'Trent…' Daria said softly.

'Yeah?'

'You don't like Monique do you?'

'Only if you like Tom.'

This answer seemed perfect to the petite brunette on Trent's arm, earning him a very brief but flattering smile. Of course, this wasn't the usual fairy tale, and she knew it. At once she sensed an odd – something in the air. Sniffing a few times her eyes flew open. 'Do you smell smoke?'

Trent looked at her as if she were insane. Taking a moment, he too felt shock settle into his face. 'Damn.' Smoke was billowing through the house whilst people rushed out the front door. Daria wasn't exactly sure what happened next, as all she knew was that in what seemed to be a few seconds, she was out the front of the house clutching to Trent's arm and watching as a huge fire poured from the back of the house.

Jane and Trent watched uselessly as fire-fighters dealt with the house, their shock not ebbing even as they were being asked how and why the fire had been started outside. The truth was neither of them had noticed kids starting a bonfire nearby the scrap wood pile. With this in mind, the fire was out and the party was over.

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	18. When The Moon Hits Your Eye

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**Chapter Eighteen; When The Moon Hits Your Eye**

Jane and Trent marched through their house behind a stout, balding man with wide forearms. He chatted about various damages, yet it all flew over their heads. They knew their house was screwed, but that was the extent of their care or understanding. 'And at about $1800, you should have a new wall… and windows. And support beams. Actually…' The builder ran through some more numbers till he handed Trent a slip of paper sporting more zeros than anything else.

'$3500…' Trent blankly read aloud, looking between the builder and the paper before coughing a little. 'Can we, uh, get back to you?' he asked, looking between Jane and the builder before stuffing the paper toward Jane. She seemed equally baffled by the figures she was seeing; and, for once, it wasn't her C average in Maths's fault.

'Sure, you've got our number,' the builder paused, crossing his arms, 'that's the best offer you'll get though.' He seemed to know exactly what the Lane siblings were thinking simply from the sound of Trent's voice; they weren't willing to pay. The builder shrugged a farewell before exiting the Lane household and spluttering off in his station wagon. Trent and Jane watched in total astonishment, a few seconds being played up into a few minutes. Eventually Jane tugged Trent towards the couch and they were sitting uselessly in amongst bills and postcards.

'We have to tell mom and dad,' Jane suddenly declared, her hands tucked under her chin. She was hung over and a little bit annoyed at the fact her party had turned into such a horrible travesty… However, her main problem was that she and Trent ended up having to fork out $3500 for some kid setting fire to the back of their house. She could have screamed, but she severely doubted that would end well.

'We won't.' Trent stood up, his hands tucked into his pockets. He seemed to be in some kind of lame Zen mode, though it was only acting to annoy his younger sister further.

'How are we supposed to pay this off then?' Jane paused, 'Trent, we're going to have to get jobs.'

Trent stared at Jane for a few minutes, his eyes a little wider than usual. 'Funny.'

'I'm serious.'

'Now you're scaring me Janey…' Trent sighed and examined the damage again, as if not believing the huge singed walls and ruined appliances. Even if it was going to cost $3500 for the walls alone, there was everything that needed to be replaced and refurnished. Their parents didn't believe in insurance, leaving Jane and Trent in a very awkward position.

'I can hear it now… "I knew you kids were too young to stay home alone…"' Jane mocked, her hands forcefully pressed against her forehead. After a few useless moments of self-pity, she stood up and shook the vibes off. 'Look, we're gonna just have to get jobs and deal with this like adults.'

Trent scoffed, his hands tucked into his pockets. 'But Mystik Spiral's about to hit it big – we'll pay it off when a company signs us up.'

'Trent, we have a huge hole in the damn wall,' Jane pointed out, waving her arms in the direction of the smouldering black. Usually a sight like that would warm her heart, but considering the fact it was her house it wasn't artistic in the least. 'Just wish I knew who did this…' she added under her breath, arms tightly crossed across her chest.

'Uh, would it be too drastic to suggest we work the streets or something?'

'Yes.'

'…Okay.' Trent got up, plodding off out the front of the house with a cigarette clutched between his index and middle fingers, a small amused smile across his face. Of course he had been joking; he needed to lighten his spirits with the prospect of working. As he lit the end of the cigarette and took the first breath, he tried not to think about it.

---

Jane came to school the Monday with slumped shoulders and dark circles under her eyes. She was met with apologetic looks and questions of how her house was, but met all the concern with indifferent shrugs. Unless someone was willing to pay the bill for her, she didn't care to discuss the topic. Eventually she found Daria amidst locker debris, some students seeing to cleaning out in some weird notion of autumn cleaning.

'So where're you staying now?'

'What, no playful banter?'

Daria rolled her eyes and resumed her own little bout of cleaning – of course, her locker was in perfect condition anyway, so the cleaning was moot. All she ever stored in the sanctity of her locker was a book or twelve.

'Nick's set us up for now. He has a place a bit across town.'

'You could've come stayed with me…' Daria let the tone waver, her hands hanging in mid-air as she ignored the books for the moment. Her concern rested on Jane, and her reasoning for not staring. Of course it wasn't an annoyed or accusatory tone, just curious as to Jane's thought process.

'Yeah, well, I didn't want to impose myself on your house – I do it all the time.' Jane shrugged and the topic was left. Daria clearly had some argument against the point, but decided that Jane had her reasoning for neglecting to ask for a place to stay. Daria supposed it meant that Trent and Jane were able to stay together, and they'd probably need to stay for a while. And Nick's house was void of Quinn, Jake and Helen; a plus in Daria's book.

---

'So how're you guys going to pay off your bills? Start working as street performers?' Daria asked in jest, her arms hanging by her sides. They were waiting in the canteen line, trying earnestly to forget the horrible session they had just suffered through with Mr. O'Neil. He seemed hell-bent on discussing feelings, even if the class didn't call for any kind of emotional baggage to be ransacked.

'Jobs,' Jane answered simply, not eager to discuss the problem.

'Trent's getting a _job_?' Daria asked, her voice reaching a rather incredulous tone.

'He's got a job. When he was 19, he started working to help pay for his guitar and amps. But once he'd bought them, he never called for shifts again. Really, he's hoping he's still employed there…' Jane faded off, her confidence in Trent wavering as per usual. He was never very – trustworthy, she supposed. He was a great guy; just that he lacked any kind of dedication to things outside himself and his music.

'And this job would be…' Daria asked slowly, as she expected Jane to fill in the blank.

'Oh Daria, you should know, we go there all the time.' Jane grabbed up a dessert and something sludge-like to eat. With the dullest flicker of a smile, she noticed Daria's utter disbelief with complete relish.

'We can never eat again.'

'Correction, we never have to pay to eat again. Why do you think Trent gets free pizzas?'

'He gets free pizzas?'

'… What, you think he pays for those things?' Jane asked in complete amusement, her lips twitching into a particularly amused grin. Seeing Daria entirely confused, as if her whole world had been flipped into a new light.

'What about you?' Daria asked, only assuming Jane had taken some kind of job as well.

'Me? I'm painting faces for kids birthdays.'

'Making kids happy?' Daria asked. Jane just laughed and shrugged.

'Money is money.'

---

'Ah Trent, I always wondered when you'd come crawling back,' Mr. Delaney muttered through a thick Italian moustache. The man stood about 5' 6", a short thing by any stretch of the imagination. Bristling out from under his nose was a dark black moustache, sprinkled with grey hairs. Much like the rest of him, it had a rounded sort of edge, his appearance serving to embody his near-stereotypical façade; a little Italian pizza-shop owner. He hadn't aged much over the years, and spent most his time in the kitchen rather than at the counter.

'Uh, I didn't crawl, I walked in,' Trent shuffled his bag off his shoulder and slung on his uniformed shirt – thankfully it still fit, despite the many years between shifts. He guessed he hasn't grown that much over the years, not after reaching the height of about 6' 2" – probably for the better.

'It's just a saying, m'boy,' Mr. Delaney laughed, his hands resting on his sides. 'I'm glad you've come back to work. You were one of my best delivery boys, you were,' he chided, patting Trent on the back as he stacked a few pizzas together.

Trent made a small noise of recognition and thanks, his face faded and hair more tousled than normal. He'd been worrying and stressing for days now, unable to afford the repairs and to get a decent sleep. He was living very hesitantly with Nick, seeing as his friend barely made enough to support himself and keep up with child payment.

Then there was his younger sister, someone he wanted the best for – for her to be able to create and paint without worry or concern. Unless, of course, the worry and concern from their house burning up was inspiring and led to insightful revolutions in her art. He was already entirely soured to the majority of the world, vicariously living through his music and his gigs. He spent most his time trying to avoid the confrontation with the real world and real life hew knew was coming; when he'd finally have to get a wife, a kid, a job and a hole in his soul.

'Hey, hole in my soul…' he sung, 'your rage is so droll, your face is so sick, I might have to … to… be sick? Ah man,' Trent growled, his muse now lost to him.

Stacking the pizzas together in his arms, he carried them out to his car with a hesitant sigh, ignoring the leaves blowing by and the puddles starting to form in the gutters. Autumn was here, but only just. With all this milling over in his head, he tried to reason how they would pay the bills; the ones for their normal house, the ones at Nick's house, and the ones to _fix_ their house's burned walls. In the mix of all this, he found himself lost in an abyss of driving and reaching beyond his grasp for people and things alike.

And, to top it off, he hadn't even proven to Daria that he'd finished the song on time. He wished he could worry about this more thoroughly, but it seemed a minute concern compared to the hassle of their house. And he was tired; so freaking tired.

As he turned into the first curb and plucked out the right box, he wondered if selling his soul would get any easier with each delivery. Of course, it wasn't all that bad. Hand a pizza over, get cash, leave – in theory, it was easy. But, as Trent was the screw-up of society, he was always greeted with a sneer or a false, jeering smile. The 'thank you's got him the worst, making him shiver and cringe in his own skin.

'All for Janey,' he'd find himself mutter at the worst of times. He was a corporate shill, a '_normal guy_'. His eyes danced from the lists of names and houses he would have to deliver to the pizzas beside him. It was sickening, annoying and entirely unrealistic. He needed to get a job that wasn't selling out so much; which was, of course, impossible. He wanted to be a musician, but that wasn't what he needed. It wasn't even realistic. He pulled up to the curb, his hands clutched tightly to the wheel of the car, his forehead pressed against it. _'Hey there normal guy, it was you!' _Trent sung under his breath.

---

'How'd your deliveries go?' Mr. Delaney said with a genial grin, his hands tucked into his pockets and his smile quite caustic to Trent. With great difficulty, Trent managed a grumbled 'fine' and handed over the money owed to his boss. After a few moments he was out the door and back to Nick's apartment with a free pizza in hand and a tired aura wrapped around him. At least he could relax now, in his own little haven he has set up at the end of Nick's bed. Jane was afforded the pleasure of the couch, a notion that didn't seem to befit his little sister.

Slipping into the apartment building, Trent quickly found himself into Nick's apartment and faced with Jane and Daria. 'Jane, why -' he felt ashamed he was staying at a friend's house out of sympathy, especially with a free pizza clutched in his hands. He felt cheap, and a little pathetic. 'Uh. Daria? Hi… uh…'

'School project – Nick said it was fine,' Jane added pointedly, her eyebrow darting up her forehead. She knew what Trent was attempting to ask, and she had an annoyed feeling Daria understood his stutters as well. Daria remained quite, her face turned to a blank piece of paper she was pretending to read out of courtesy. She couldn't bring herself to look at Trent whilst he wore a tacky pizza shop uniform, it further stained his already tainted image Trent sported.

The gesture was received with mixed feelings. Should he be thankful she refused to look at him, or concerned she could tell he was selling out? How would that affect her perception of him? Trent made a small grunted noise, letting the pizza slide from his hand as he passed the counter. He didn't make much of an effort to say any further greetings due to the undying need to have a shower. He'd been working for the pizza place for almost a month. The end of October was approaching slowly, the days growing shorter and the nights getting colder.

Jane and Daria remained in the lounge room with the TV on as they wrote out lists for art. 'So who were you inspired by?' Jane asked, tapping her finger against her chin.

'Did Trent seem weird to you?'

'Yeah, he gets like this when he works. He tends to brood and discuss how 'the man' is keeping him down. I tend to ignore it. So, can you think of any artists that inspire you; any at all? Or do I have to carry your sorry butt through this art project?'

'Wow, he's becoming that bitter. Aren't you worried?' Daria remained quiet beyond this, idly staring into the space Trent had walked off toward.

'Oh, nice choice. Paul Gauguin. A personal favourite, I must say.'

'We should go talk to him,' Daria suggest with an odd tone to her voice – she wasn't sure if she wanted to talk to him or not, but felt a bit odd since they hadn't spoken since the fire.

'I was never a fan of Picasso, too mainstream.'

'Are you listening to me?'

'Mhh, Vincent Van Gogh… he can go in the maybe section. He'll be an obvious choice for people, seeing as he was insane – they need a role model after all.'

Daria sighed and settled further into the couch, her chin now resting on her chest.

'Spunky. Weird choice, but alright… not technically an artist...'

'I demand that divorce go ahead now, Lane.'

'Oh, I'm one of your inspirations? Well, I do dabble in the paintbox every so often,' Jane said with a smirk. She, of course, was no longer writing and was simply drawing a picture of Daria fighting off a horde of postmodern paintings; more accurately squares with scribbles in them.

The sound of a shower turning on made Daria drop the idea, seeing as she had no intention to try and converse with Trent when he was in the shower. She frowned at the floor as she felt her mind wander and cheeks flush red. There was of course very little point in attempting to converse with her now, Jane thought.

Jane continued to list off artist, choosing to ignore Daria's invalid input to the discussion. Daria didn't draw, or paint, so the assignment seemed null and void. Jane, however, was having a field day with discussing works she had come to admire and respect. It wasn't till 20 minutes later when Trent walked past with several towels conveniently placed that the girls stopped working.

'You stopped showering like 20 minutes ago Trent, how are you _not_ dressed yet?' Jane asked rather disgusted by her brother. 'Lazy slacker,' she added under her breath.

Trent seemed to ignore the outburst, tugging the towel off from his shoulders and throwing it into the perceptibly makeshift laundry pile nearby. 'Why haven't you eaten any pizza?' he asked, stealing a slice before walking off to get changed into some clothing. Daria was pretending to not exist on the couch whilst Jane called out something about Trent being a _jerk_, though her wording was a little bit more forceful. As he walked away he thought if only the two could see the complacent smirk that had spread across his face. He hated his work, but the sight of Daria glow as scarlet as she had – it made his night a little more bearable.

_**Don't forget to review!**_


	19. Watching Me, Watching You

**Remember to review!**

**Chapter Eighteen; Watching me, Watching You**

Without much ado, Daria had excused herself from Nick's house when her mother arrived to pick her up. The new distance between houses meant she had to either catch the bus or be picked up; a notion that sickened her a little. She managed to evade all questions from her mother, especially the questions of why she was over at some apartment. Daria had tried to explain it was where Jane lived now, but it seemed that wasn't enough; upon arriving home, Daria denied dinner and gone straight off to bed. Well, to her room; she spent most the night reading. It felt as though she had to wake up as soon as she was asleep, a sensation she didn't welcome at all. Daria groggily slipped out of bed, her eyes shut against the morning and against the sound of a hairdryer running at its highest setting off in the bathroom. She assumed correctly that she wouldn't be allowed into the bathroom anytime soon… with this in mind she dragged on the familiar outfit that she wore daily. Over the past few weeks, Jane had been working. And Trent had been working. And Daria _hadn't_ been working.

The notion completely ruined her mind – two people who seemed entirely timeless were actually sticking to a timed schedule. It made her wonder; perhaps it was time she get another job – maybe one less inclined to customer service… maybe something in a library, sorting books or even a simple job where she didn't have to talk to anyone… well, that was going on impossible, but she could hope. The money would be nice, but the rigid schedule and inability to do as she pleased wasn't tempting.

As she laced up her boots, she heard a familiar knock at the door. 'You can use the bathroom, but like… what do you _do_ in there? I mean, no offence, but you don't do your hair or even put on make-up! Not that I _care_, it's just weird… y'know?' Quinn loudly proclaimed, her hands flinging to her hips in protest. She clearly needed more time in the bathroom, or that was the implication. 'I mean, I have to do all this bouncifying and make-up-ology and… stuff that's important. Don't even get me started on lip gloss to blush ratios!'

Daria stared till her sister stopped talking. 'Well, I need to sacrifice a virgin to my God daily or the voices don't stop…Say Quinn…' Daria trailed off, eyeing her sister as if it were a suggestion. Quinn quickly rushed away, her tail metaphorically between her legs. Daria took some kind of amusement in this as she trawled off to the bathroom. After routinely brushing her teeth and dealing with some kind of moisturiser or another, she headed downstairs for a rushed breakfast.

'- and so that's why I _borrowed _that credit card,' Quinn chuckled, twiddling a piece of hair around her index finger. Jake stood with a letter clutched in one hand and a mug in the other. She assumed he'd try to drink the paper and keep glaring at the mug if she knew her father in the morning. He couldn't multitask.

Daria waddled past this effort at parenting and settled at the counter – there was a bowl of some kind and a glass of juice-like fluid – she never questioned _what_ they were, as they just appeared there every morning for her… she supposed one of her parents laid it out for her, but she never bothered to ask. Or say thank you.

Helen coughed from across the kitchen, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed at Daria. 'So, you seem to be sneaking off after school more… are you seeing someone? I know it's hard, but I like to meet the people you associate – I mean, _hang out_ with.'

'You've caught me. Billy and I are just so happy together. We're going to the sock-hop on Tuesday. Maybe some heavy petting in the backseat of his jalopy afterwards if he plays his cards right,' Daria drawled from her bowl of cereal, her eyes unnoticeably narrowed.

Helen resigned herself to the fact she would have to try a different approach. 'Alright, fine, but… if and when you _do _find someone… I expect a little introduction and dinner.'

'Fine,' Daria agreed, tugging her backpack onto her back before heading out the front door. Quinn and Jake were still in a little debate nearby the stairs, but Daria chose to ignore it… As it didn't directly concern her until they saw how much she spent on books and replicas of sheep skulls. Then she would be forced to join in the little credit debacle.

After a short walk, Daria habitually knocked at Jane's front door. Through an odd pang of upset, she remembered the hose was abandoned for now. The mailbox seemed to be piling up, and the grass remained as uncut as ever. Daria snatched the letters out of the letterbox before slinking off to school, void of Jane's presence. It was an odd feeling, being alone on the way to school.

'_Have I been going to Jane's too often?' _Daria heard herself ask, her head lolling down so she was angrily staring at the ground. She didn't think she'd been going there too often, but perhaps Helen had a point. This point was null and void; she was only going there to hang out with Jane. Ever since the party and the seemingly distinct lack of the song, Trent hadn't really talked to her much.

Upon arrival to school, Jane called out to Daria, standing beside a car. The familiar model, a 1973 Plymouth Satellite, made her cringe inwardly. She debated whether or not to act like she hadn't seen Jane, her hands clutching tightly to the shoulder straps of her backpack. As she got closer she decided she couldn't avoid the car; it held the same odd smoky, musky and worn smell of the car as usual. Really, the smell alone should have deterred her approach, but she didn't see a point in denying herself one of her _only_ guilty pleasures; Trent, and replicas of supposedly morbid things.

'Hey,' she managed, spotting Trent tucked neatly into the driver's seat of the car. He seemed to flick his attention from the mirror to the girls, issuing a worn smile and a coughed chuckle.

'If it isn't Jane's other half,' he murmured uselessly as Jane shot him an odd look.

'Don't you have to get to work?'

'Why? It's only 8 in the morning,' he countered, resting his arm on the edge of the car's window. He was wearing the uniform, a horrendous red and yellow shirt with pinstripes of black. There was a small paper hat that was left unworn on the dashboard of the car; Daria physically recoiled at the sight of the uniform, withholding a laugh.

'Be nice,' Jane said with an agreeing smile, her teeth bared as Trent seemed to glare the two off.

'It's not like I have a choice…' he sighed, mumbling a goodbye. The girls stood back from the car and watched Trent speed off.

'If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was embarrassed… it's kinda like when you worked at that nut shack. You know, and you were all embarrassed about being seen because people might laugh,' Jane prodded Daria in the ribs with her elbow, only receiving a dull shrug in response, 'or not… c'mon, we better get to class before Mr. DeMartino kills off Britney or Kevin.'

'Wouldn't want to miss that prime-time entertainment; hell, he might even just finish the whole class off.'

'No, he'd leave one of us to tell the story. That's how it works.' Jane opened the door for herself and Daria, smirking.

'Shotgun.'

'Damnit. Mourn my corpse till the day you die, will you? I like to feel special' Jane asked idly. The two just shared a chuckle as they spotted their class entering the classroom. They both resigned themselves to the fact there would probably be no massacres any time soon, and for this they were thankful.

---

The end of the day approached, Jane and Daria decided that someone up there liked them – O'Neill was away once more, allowing them the time and ability to leave early. Usually they'd hitch a ride off Trent, but he wasn't due to arrive for a while… they chose to just head straight to Nick's apartment across town, figuring that they could use the buses.

Whilst the girls waited for the bus, there seemed to be a particular amount of attention heading their way. There were some boys from Lawndale who were rarely at school; something they probably thought earned them merit in Jane and Daria's eyes.

'Hey, uh, either of you got the time? I wanna know what time it was I spotted angels for real,' one boy called, earning him some chuckles amoungst his friends.

'Desperate,' Daria noted under her breath, inching noticeably away from the small group of guys; Jane frowned simply, looking over to the group. They seemed to be in Quinn's year, and rather greasy looking. It surprised her they had the balls to say anything at all to loners like herself and Daria, but she shrugged.

'Even if I did tell you the time, I doubt you'd be able to interpret it on the sundial your people still use,' Jane called back, leaning against the wall of the bus stop. The verbally uninspired fight continued until Jane, in some act of chivalry, deterred the attention. She mostly did it for the sake of Daria who was always perturbed with male attention. Once in the bus, the issue was moot and they were sitting awkwardly stumped between a cat lady and a hobo of some description.

After an uncomfortable ride, Daria and Jane happily slid off the bus and toddled off toward the apartment building they'd begun to call home. As per usual and tradition, Nick was at work, along with Trent. The girls sat themselves up in front of the TV, content smiles spreading across their features as they realised they had an apartment to themselves and the TV privileges.

'Wanna order pizza?' Jane asked with an amused smile, looping an arm around Daria's shoulders for a brief moment before pulling the arm back. She sensed that it'd be bitten off if she hadn't moved it sooner.

'But I don't have any money for deliveries,' Daria argued back.

'Then you pay some other way; think tacky porno,' Jane shrugged, tugging the phone over. Daria quickly stifled this gesture with a glare, about to issue some argument against the idea of ordering pizza. After a few long hours, Jane and Daria were sufficiently drawn into the TV show they were watching, entirely ignorant of the screen in front of them. The door jingled open, a tired and imperceptibly frowning Trent wafting into the room.

'Hey… uh, was I supposed to pick you up?' he asked softly from behind the couch, his work shirt askew and his hair roughly mused.

'Yeah, about three hours ago; you weren't waiting for us that entire time, were you' Jane asked, hooking her arm over the back of the couch and staring up at Trent.

'No, I was sleeping… uh, I figured you would have gotten home anyway…' Trent trailed off for a few seconds, giving Daria a look of slight upset. 'I have a gig tonight – it's been a while, but we finally got another paid gig…' he seemed to yearn for something with these words, his hand instinctually scratching at the nape of his neck.

'We'll be happy to go,' she received a glare from Daria, 'aren't you supposed to be working?' Jane asked, looking between Daria and Trent.

Trent didn't really respond to this, so much as react to this. He was gone in an instant, the door slamming behind him.

'I wondered when he'd break,' Jane mumbled under her breath, mirroring Daria's internal monologue, 'he's trying though,' she added with a pointed look to Daria. Daria responded to this with a look that Jane couldn't really place – nothing new, the brunette girl was an enigma. 'I don't think he's trying for the right reasons, though…'

'What?'

'He's trying to impress _you_, Ms. Ice Queen,' Jane muttered softly, her eyes dropping to the coffee table. 'He's kept a steady job – sort of – and has been paying bills… he's never tried that before. Hell, he's even wearing a _watch._ I wonder who's idea that was, hmm,' Jane muttered through her own torn emotions. Seeing her brother flounder around for Daria was making her worry – she wasn't responding, maybe she just needed a nice little jolt… something to make her feel something. Or at least, let everyone around her know she's feeling something for once.

'He doesn't wear the watch,' Daria said quickly, never seeing the watch on his wrist. Daria fell oddly quiet after this, her arms tightly crossed as she examined the floor. Her mind finally caught up with everything – he'd played her song, kept a job, tried to keep to a time, even tried to prove he was dependable.

'At the gig tonight, just - just _try_ to talk to him,' Jane explained, shrugging her shoulders in amidst her own narrowed demeanour. 'I'm not babying you with this anymore,' she added with a small note of finality.

'You weren't – okay, maybe… Just watch the TV,' Daria finally managed, her eyes drooping closed as she sighed through her nose. Her mother wanted her to bring someone home for dinner – someone four or five years older was probably not on her mind… What sort of career did he have? What would Helen think of a pizza delivery guy, or of a guitarist in a flopped band? After a few seconds, her eyes flickered open. 'When did I start caring what my mother thought?' she asked allowed, looking over to Jane.

Jane shrugged once more, a smirk parting her lips. 'Maybe it was when you came all fancily dressed to your birthday party.'

'Rhetorical question, Lane.'

'Ah Morgendorffer, you're a harsh mistress.'

---

After a few annoying and tedious hours, Daria and Jane were seated in the Tank. Daria had borrowed something to wear off Jane. According to Jane, a change of wardrobe was called for. Her hair was also tied up, mostly because Jane had, had her way with it. 'Artists,' Daria had mumbled, only to receive a curt little pinch on the arm.

'So, paid gig huh? Not a battle of the bands?' Jane quipped, her hands tucked under her chin and her elbows on her knees.

'Actually,' Max began before Trent raised an all-knowing eyebrow. 'Yeah, just a paid… nothing… nothing about it.'

'Wow that sounds so very promising. If Trent wasn't my brother, I'd be worried we were being taken to a human slavery camp or something,' Jane laughed across to Trent, only to receive a sharp corner. Daria and Jane went skirting into the end of the van, trying not to get crushed or hit by the miscellaneous things in the back. After a few hazardous moments in the back of the van, the girls had grown accustomed to the jitter of the motor and the unpromising squeal of the brakes.

'We're here,' Trent uselessly announced as he slid out of the van. He was back to his olive shirt and jeans, something Daria was oddly thankful for… she wondered if the costume change had been worth it, but supposed it was her time to stop being such an avoiding force. She and Trent both seemed particularly good at avoiding the other, so the two never seemed to meet…

As the amps and gear were being lurched out of the van, Daria forcefully walked over to Trent. 'Trent,' she said, proud of her accomplishment. She was met with the dark stare of Trent, his eyes rather menacing, more than usual. 'Ithinkit'sgreatthat… I mean… you working is – good,' Daria faltered, looking and sounding confused.

'I quit,' Trent said sharply, turning his attention to tuning his guitar.

'Why?' Daria asked with a sudden pang of annoyance, entirely unreasoned and unexpected.

'Keeping to a time was hard…' he said with a small sigh, rubbing his eyes and fiddling with his hair. 'My band is where my passion is… I was sick of peddling some man's pizzas.'

'Which is all Trent-speak for "we've paid off the debt", pretty much,' Jane chimed in, seemingly listening as she carried a set of smaller amps for the band. Daria was surprised the lean figure of Jane was actually able to handle the equipment so well, considering the weight.

'So… you're just going to quit? And… give up?' Daria asked, staring up at Trent with uncertainty.

'This gig tonight, there's talent agents and scouts. I think we stand a good chance of getting some kind of contract…' Trent trailed off as he saw this didn't have much effect on Daria. 'You like writing, right?'

Daria twitched back, trying to soften her apparent aggravation. With a stifled nod, her eyes twitched to the ground. 'I do… why?'

'Write a story right now. All about your inner most feelings; if it doesn't work out, go get a desk job,' Trent managed with a harsher tone than Daria had been expecting.

'What?'

'Pressure doesn't help. I realised that even if I can't create to a deadline, I can still create, y'know? Look, you wanna be a journalist or something, right? Your passion is writing? Well, you should understand. It's hard to write to someone else's expectations. You're afraid it'll sound untrue… and that it wouldn't be any good. I want to make this work… I want to be a musician. I feel like I can speak at my own pace, about what I want…' he seemed to fade off, shaking his head, 'Too much… need sleep,' he said with a dull yawn, sneaking off toward the van.

Daria felt her cheeks thump a dull red. In this moment, realised how it felt… to be characterised as something, to be expected to create. She felt her mind trace back over all the times she'd been expected to write something for O'Neill using people she knew, how she never felt it worked, how it was never what she wanted. In the end, she had written something simple and true, but at the cost of efficiency. From what Trent had just said, it sounded as if he suffered that same block, but he never seemed to articulate it well enough; not until he seemed to give up and accept the fact he wasn't able to sugar-coat this for Daria anymore.

Without hesitation, Daria clambered in after Trent, shaking at his shoulders. He seemed to stir, glaring up at her. 'Yeah?'

'I get what you mean… I'm sorry… But, I still keep to deadlines, I still work… I shouldn't expect you to change, I know you won't.' she sat back, unsure what sort of conversation they were having. Was it about their creativity or about their potential as a couple? She felt both applied, but she hardly wanted to admit it. Her mouth rambled after than her brain, rendering her in an unwanted state of exposure. 'But I won't change either… I'm quiet, I don't like people slacking off, and I keep to time… I want a future with something certain.'

'Everyone has a future, even if it's not certain… we have a future,' Trent argued back, fiddling with his wristband; a silver flicker caught Daria's attention. Quickly reaching forward, Daria pushed it out of the way. Trent seemed too surprised to defend himself. And, around his wrist was the familiar little watch Daria had bought for him… Had she been a more sentimental figure, she would have awed a little more sincerely.

'I knew it,' Daria quipped, her smile becoming a slight bit more perceptible.

'It was nice,' he reasoned, shrugging a little as he flashed a smile.

Daria raised an eyebrow in disbelief, not flinching back as he placed an expected kiss on her lips. It wasn't anything impeccable or amazing; it just felt natural and earthy. It felt like she should want more, to kiss back, but she found herself disheartened by the surrounding debris and smell of old socks. Pulling back after the briefest moment, she heard knocking.

'When the van's rocking,' Trent lazily called, only receiving an audible cringe from his younger sister.

'The band is waiting for you, Casanova,' Jane called back to her brother, slumping against the wall of the car. Trent tugged the wristband back over his watch, his eyes flickering across Daria's face to the door of the van.

'My crowd is waiting,' he said with a mumbled laugh, a few coughs littering his words.

'Try not to hack a lung onto them, you probably won't get it back,' Daria said bluntly, tugging her hair out of the stupid up hairstyle Jane had whipped up. Trying to make her hair settle, she slipped out of the van and was met with Jane's indifference. Trent soon followed, but quickly dodged away to attend his gig.

'Nice hair.'

Daria cussed in her mind, not really thinking through the obvious nature of having gone in with her hair up, and coming out with her hair down. 'Band?'

'Fine,' Jane laughed, trying to avoid the inherent cringe she received from the idea of Daria and Trent being together… even if it's what she felt they both wanted, and in some way, what she wanted too.

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	20. Nothing In Life Is Free Except Air

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**Chapter Twenty; Nothing In Life Is Free Except Air**

The crowd was shifting and stifled, the two girls barely able to see over the heads of some particularly nasty goth-punk-grunge hybrids. The Zen had never been so packed, except for that time there had been a legitimately famous and played a good tune. Daria and Jane had been dragged along by Jesse and Trent, something they were rarely subjected to. 'I'm dating someone,' Jane spouted from the quiet of the band's introduction.

'When did this happen?' Daria asked in actual surprise, though she measured her tone – it wasn't worth sounding as if it were unexpected. Jane had a habit of dating guys rather liberally, at least for Daria's tastes. It wasn't to the same magnitude as her sister Quinn, so there was no point complaining.

'A few weeks ago,' Jane answered, seeming to take a breath as the amps began to roar under the dulcet voice of the announcer. Mystik Spiral were up next, causing a gleeful shuffle to cross the crowd. A few girls began bouncing and waving her hands in the air, awkwardly pressing their thumbs against the middle and ring fingers – as if they even had a concept of where the gesture had originated. Jane and Daria exchanged a look, one of almost utter amusement. Mystik Spiral had groupies.

'What's their name?'

A pause; Jane seemed to stumble over a few thoughts before admitting the name. 'Taylor.'

'I won't ask any more questions,' Daria replied pointedly, noticing that she was better off trying to pull Jane's teeth than answers to very direct and simple questions. Jane seemed content with the lack of questions, though Daria couldn't be bothered paying it much mind. Ever since the Tom fiasco, Jane had been so hostile, then so friendly, then hostile again… it seemed to flicker based on the phases of the moon, or something just as obscure. Luckily the band stepped on stage after a long introduction and the girls were forcefully rendered wordless in amongst the noise.

They announced they'd be playing a few old songs before their newer works. Familiar renditions of _Icebox Woman,_ _Normal Guy_ and, oddly enough, the song Trent had written for Jane's birthday. Eventually the crowd was lulled into the tones and tunes of the band, waiting for the new music with eager anticipation.

Trent stumbled to the microphone, his hand clutched around the metal top in a state of utter euphoria. It was the largest crowd they'd ever played for and they loved the band, for whatever drugged reason. Counting in the song, his eyes flickered about the crowd. Daria seemed all too content with Jane in amidst the crowd, her hair frazzled and cheeks thumping red. 'Blissfully Broken, a piece written by – well, she knows who she is,' Trent announced with his usual mystery, his voice a grizzled and gaunt thing from all his singing.

It was in this moment she realised she had never heard the song played. As the opening chords ran, Daria noticed a few fumbles in the tune, in the words, in the rhythm, but… it seemed to heighten the experience. No one else seemed to notice, or care, and continued to stand in a sort of awe as the song ran through.

Some new appreciation hit her – Trent had taken her advice, his voice no longer possessed the forced grunge it once held and he played that tiny bit better. The minutes the song lasted seemed to be over as soon as she blinked, some kind of awkward realisation she'd never hear the song again; not to this magnitude at least. She sighed and the next few songs seemed to roll by. Occasionally she would look toward Jane, or the crowd, but she couldn't help to return her gamely stare to Trent.

Eventually the band came to a final song, a rendition of a newer song that Trent had written. As he begun to belt out the lyrics, Daria felt herself entranced and involved – as if she was committed to hearing this song all the way through, note for note. It was odd, being so invested in something, of course, not actually showing it. Her lacklustre expression and occasional bop secured that.

_The face of denial__  
The fire in my heart  
__The fight I'm fighting  
Just let the music start_

_Just breath  
Just move  
Normal guy  
Just move_

_My sanity  
Your vanity  
You're free  
You're history_

The lyrics, in essence, made Daria cringe. Apparently Trent hadn't learned that songs didn't need to rhyme, nor did they require some kind of resolution or pattern… just some message and overarching idea; that was the sort of song Daria lent her name to.

_I see your cringe  
I see your strife  
I see your pain  
I see you come to life_

_And oh my dear  
How you come to life  
Come to life  
Come to li-ife_

Daria raised an eyebrow at Trent, his words seemingly pre-empting her own apprehension. Smiling a satisfied Mona Lisa smile, Daria settled into the grammatically erroneous lyrics. She was amused by the whole ordeal, to the point where she found herself frowning out the remainder of the refrains.

After the concert, the band and Daria, Jane and a few odd groupies wandered toward the van. Despite the nature of the music, the group of girls seemed to gravitate toward the visage of Trent and Nick. The band's mystique seemed to lure the girls in through some odd musk, some animal magnetism. Trent humored the girls with casual smirks and answers to questions. But, throughout it all, he kept his eyes on Daria; they would talk it out this time.

After a few moments Trent managed to deter the girls that had suddenly shown him some attention. In all honesty, he seemed to attract more girls when he was contemplating a relationship. It always happened with Monique - the name dragged across his mind like nails on a chalkboard. 'So Daria,' Trent laughed, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

'So what?' Daria asked with a small shuffle of her shoulders.

'Did you like the song?'

Daria shrugged back, her shoulders rising against the cold.

Trent played the response up in his head, taking it more positively than indifferent. 'Where to?' he asked his ever-vivacious band, an eyebrow twitching up his forehead.

'Your place is fixed right? I mean, they only finished today… coincidental, hey?' Nick offered with a smirk. Trent sighed and shook his head. 'Dude, you owe me after the mess you left at my apartment,' he added in a mildly sing-song voice.

'Jane, is Daria staying over?' Trent asked. Through a subtle battle of the eye movements, Trent and Jane decided that Daria was going to stay over, even if she had to call her parents last minute off of a nearby payphone.

'If you're so desperate… Do you want to Daria?' Jane asked without any real need to wait for an answer. They darted off to a nearby phone and called up Daria's family. It wasn't long before they were nestled back in the van with a few of the instruments rattling about them. It was apparently cool to have beaten up instruments.

The group was soon back at Casa Lane, the van rolling to a stop outside of the house. After a few moments of unpacking, Jane and Daria rushed off to Jane's room. Neither was eager to stay around the band in their post-gig laziness. Even if Trent had spent the past twenty minutes talking to no one outside of Daria, he seemed just as eager to settle into the alcohol they had stashed in the fridge.

'So who's Taylor?' Daria asked through her own faked intrigue. Jane physically stiffened, her attention quickly shifting to her unmade bed. 'Am I going to get an answer?'

'I met them at the art supplies store the other day.'

'He sounds nice,' Daria drawled, her arms darting across her chest, 'any more detailed commentary on him?'

Jane flushed red, a sight Daria had never seen before. 'You can meet them... I just need to see how the date goes,' Jane fumbled at seeing Trent appeared. He held an unwashed and drunken swagger. 'Hey,' he said clumsily, looking from Jane to Daria as he remained stoic in the doorframe.

Jane sighed and nodded toward her brother. 'Go, he might start singing something or worse...'

Daria sensed the mild hostility from Jane but didn't think to fix it at that moment. As she exited the room, she was met with arms languidly draped across her waist. Stepping out of this embrace, she narrowed her eyes up at Trent. the two remained quiet for a brief interlude before Daria bit back her own trepidation. 'Talking. Now.'

'About?' Trent asked with a noticeable apprehension.

'The speech about creativity... You _can_ write to deadlines, you did it for that jingle.'

'What?' Trent laughed through his own confusion. At receiving very little response, he sighed out his frustration. His romanticized romp after the concert seemed to turn into a martial disagreement, or the closest he had ever gotten to it.

'If I was a few years older, you'd date me right? Which means you wouldn't date me now… I can tell that much, but you keep making me think and feel differently,' Daria deduced with her eyes turned down toward the carpeted floor. Daria was a little surprised the house was better off.

Trent was taken aback once more, filled with the warmth of the vodka he'd ingested. He swallowed a few small worries before dipping down to examine Daria's face. 'You still remember that?'

Daria looked aside, her eyes averted to the wall nearby. 'Not really,' she noted before feeling her chin drawn back with calloused fingers. She blinked a few times, her hands settled on Trent's forearm as if to push it away. They remained like this for a few moments before Daria allowed her hands to drop from the other's arms.

'Why do you always turn away when we talk?' Trent asked with the same measured confusion.

'Why do we never talk?' Daria knew why. It was all to do with her face and her eyes betraying her own careful upset and reserved anger. They betrayed what little emotions she felt and she couldn't afford that. 'What do you want from me?' Daria asked as she finally pulled back from the hand on her chin. Her mouth opened momentarily, her mind batting back some imperceptible words.

Trent slipped his hands around Daria's shoulders hesitantly, hoping she wouldn't shrug him off again. 'I don't really want anything from you,' he said half-heartedly, a gentle edge to his usually calloused voice. 'Uh. What do you want? I mean, from me?' The alcohol seemed to catch up with him. 'Sleep would be good,' Trent added under his breath, his hands slipping off his shoulders.

Daria flushed an angry red, her hands reaching out to latch onto Trent's arms. 'You wanted to talk, but you're walking away.'

'Do you really wanna do this when I'm... ' he faded off at seeing Daria's expression. 'Fine. Go.'

'We need to go on a proper... Something. Not with Jane, or to a gig, or a party. Even just some dinner. I need to know before I start hating you for being so hard to read.'

Trent coughed out his laugh, his head shaking in annoyance. With a moment of recovery, he nodded back to Daria's arrangements, his eyes now focused on hers. 'Then I can go back to gigs and fun things -' he received a pointed stare in return, though he had expected it. With little apprehension, he leant forwards, planting a kiss on the other's lips. This lasted a few seconds longer than normal, much to their mutual approval.

After a moment, Daria returned to Jane's room with a familiar stoic expression. When she saw Jane on the phone, she kept a comment back and sat down. 'I'll call you tomorrow. Yeah. No, next weekend. I haven't. No. Okay...' Jane dropped the phone onto her bedside table. Exchanging shallow smiles, the two girls faced one another.

'Taylor,' Jane announced under her breath. 'Dealt with Trent?' she asked back,

'He's drunk, post-gig and slightly narcoleptic… So yes, I did as much as possible.'

They shared a laugh, a casual smile empathetically shared. After a moment or two Jane sighed. 'I've been a little hostile lately, haven't I?'

'No more than I usually am.'

'But I'm supposed to be the bubbly nice one.' Jane countered with a small, reproachful sigh.

'I've usurped that role.' Daria said in her usual mumbled tone.

----

With this pseudo-reconciliation in mind, Daria and Jane spent the next two weeks thriving in the life of school and unstated freedom. Despite Jane's efforts, she was unable to up her C+ average for Maths. Although she assured Daria that she had gotten a tutor of sorts for it.

'She's nice, and she's doing it for free.'

'Nothing is free.'

'Don't start that crap,' Jane laughed. The two conceded that pizza was called for. Upon arrival, Jane seemed to freeze up. 'Hey,' she said with obvious confusion as a girl around Daria's own height approached them.

'Hey! Still up for the weekend?' the girl asked, exchanging looks between Jane and Daria. The girl seemed to come to her own decision on the latter, returning her full attention to Jane.

'Sure. 8, right?'

The mysterious girl nodded and walled off and out of the pizza parlor without a mention of a name.

'That was -' Jane started.

'Taylor.'

'You know too much.'

-----

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_Come to life_


	21. The Decisions We Make

**Chapter Twenty-One; The Decisions We Make**

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­­­­Daria trudged into her house with heavy steps. Her house was a place she tried to spend seldom time within; when she did get trapped inside, her time was then devoted to trying to get out. She walked straight upstairs, having just eaten a slice of pizza with Jane… though they dealt with it quickly and paid little mind to the situation; not as if it were anything to care about. Once in her room, she felt a sigh of relief pass her lips as she glanced toward her neglected PC. Her usual writing had been ignored due to her sudden interest in spending time with Trent and Jane.

Friends; they were a formidable opponent to the creative process that Daria knew and loved. The notion of working on writing and being able to maintain the level of social life was an impossibility and left Daria between a rock and a hard place.

Her bag tumbled to the floor just beside her desk; her books spilt across the floor but she ignored it. Once in her computer chair Daria felt at peace with the world and with herself. Without much of a thought, Daria logged into the PC and began sifting through stories she'd written a few weeks prior. There was one about a girl named Diana and a man named Tristan and their harlequin romance. Within a few seconds it was hidden deep in the recess of her computer's backlogged recycling bin. The story made her think, something she had been purposefully avoiding in trying to clean up her desktop.

There was Trent, Jane's older brother. Daria had an apparent crush on Trent, something they had both acknowledged and hardly dealt with outside of a few oddly placed kisses and discussions of pizza toppings. That _had_ been the nature of their arrangement until a few nights ago when Trent had, had a bit too much to drink. Daria didn't let herself think about what had been said, not even the promise of a dinner and a nice proper date. In her experience, actions spoke volumes more than words.

Since the event in question, she hadn't spoken to Trent. As the computer churned on through its old, decrepit memory, Daria flicked open her choice program for writing and began to tap away. At first it was an obscure murder mystery plot, and then it progressed to some pseudo-religious cult faction… in truth, she had no idea what she was writing, nor did it matter.

After a few lines of crappy dialogue and mute dissatisfaction, Daria sighed out her aggravation. It simply wasn't working for her; Daria slipped out of her computer chair and climbed onto her bed, the haven that offered her the promise of another day closer to her freedom, and to college. As she looked out over the street she saw cars drive by and people dawdle by. It didn't really matter in the end. She just wanted to talk to someone who wasn't directly related to her issue with Jane or Trent; not issues, just awkward occurrences… As she thought this, the familiar tingle of a phone sounded. She waited for Quinn to pick it up before registering she was home alone.

Walking out toward the phone, she tugged it from the phone dock and issued her usual monotonous 'Hello'.

'Hey Daria, its Tom.'

'Hi.'

'I just thought I'd call and say hey,' Tom said with expected sincerity. There was a pause as neither continued… until Tom spoke again. 'Hello?'

'Yes?' Daria spoke with the same venom, her eyes drifting back to the screen of her computer, 'I thought you wanted to say hey, and you did… so conversation over,' Daria made a move to hang up the phone before hearing Tom making an attempt at a sentence. 'What?'

'Can't we just talk?' Tom asked, a few moments of silence quickly as neither spoke – it seemed a mutual disagreement, mostly owing to Daria's inability to articulate over the phone. 'Right, let's try this… I miss talking to you, even on a friend's terms.'

'We weren't friends before we dated,' Daria corrected, her gaze now settled on the toe of her boot. Tom had gone silent, a most useful time to gather her thoughts and try to pull together some witty comment. 'I'm sorry, this conversation is far too stimulating for my meagre intelligence,' Daria said with a small twitch in the corner of her mouth. It had been a biting comment, sure, but it amused her to act like a bit of a bitch to the guy who gave her such a hard time. Well, unintentionally, it wasn't like he meant to cripple her social skills and cause complete disarray between herself and the only friend she'd ever had.

'Does that sound good?' Tom seemed to ask again, his eyebrows narrowed – well, he sounded as if he looked angry at the moment.

'Huh,' Daria half-grunted, her mind torn between the image of herself dragging her knuckles and acting as a Neanderthal.

'I thought we could catch up over a dinner or something. A nice one, that pizza place is driving me insane.'

'Uhm,' Daria eloquently replied, her obvious doubt destroying her ability to speak, 'sure? As friends, though.'

'Mhm, that's obvious,' Tom said with a small laugh. He gathered Daria and Trent were sharing some awkward attempt at a relationship and decided he wanted no part – at least he could remain somehow friends with the former half of the couple; Trent and himself had never really spoken and probably never would. His ex's brother, and his other ex's boyfriend. Were it anyone else, Tom thought he would have earned an actual enemy. However, Tom surmised that Trent probably didn't have enough memory left to keep tabs on the people that hated him. He was barely able to remember what day it was, after all.

They settled the details, and decided it'd be better the sooner they got together. Daria had made a joke about him being over-eager and Tom simply reminded her anyone who wasn't catatonic seemed more eager than her. Daria was secretly and guiltily happy that she and Tom had reconciled in some form – he was something of a potential friend, and they kiss they'd shared had only ruined it. The relationship was perhaps one of the best mistakes she'd ever made, as it had lead perfectly into whatever she and Trent were currently stuck in.

Daria switched her computer off and returned to bed once more, as her urge to rose. 'Trent's rubbing off on me,' Daria mumbled as she changed into her pajamas. Another content shiver ran down her back as she warmed up under her blankets, her eyes happily shutting as she fell asleep at 10PM. It was perhaps the earliest she'd ever fallen asleep in her teenage life, minus a few conk-outs due to schoolwork or illness.

It was short-lived of course. Daria's door flung open around 10:30PM with an extremely loud and upset Quinn. 'Daria, mom gave you my shirt by mistake, y'know the cute one with the peacock print and orange – oh sorry, you're asleep. Didn't mean to wake you or anything, you need the beauty sleep after all. But like, no offence,' Quinn practically yelled – her voice sent Daria into a frenzy of blankets and flails.

'You couldn't wait till tomorrow to get it?' Daria asked from under her covers, her eyes poking out from the mass of blanket as she attempted to glare at the blurred figure. 'To quote a famous TVnerd_, "My glasses, I can't see without my_ _glasses"_,' she snidely remarked in her head, even if it was mocking herself.

'No way! Your braininess would have totally cramped its style. The poor little shirt would be stuck as a fashion-don't forever if _you_ wore it by mistake.'

'Oh no, the poor thing,' Daria mumbled under her breath, curling up under the blankets once more. Quinn ransacked her closet and left the room as quickly as possible, leaving an awake and annoyed Daria to brood in the dark; well, the dark her blanket created. Quinn had neglected to switch the lights off. In a sudden, significant moment, Daria decided she didn't _want_ to be stuck at home; she didn't _want_ to be curled up imagining stupid little dreams to herself.

Within a few minutes, Daria was dressed and packed; her tacky duffle bag (covered in patches, tears and stains) was slung over her shoulder and ready to go. She quickly explained to her parents she was going to stay at Jane's, and that she didn't need a lift; Trent was coming to pick her up.

'Daria, really, at this late hour… why?' Helen almost gasped, her eyes narrowed at Daria. Her mother and father were midway through their nightly routine of getting ready for bed – despite this, they seemed ready to pounce on her with everything they had. 'You're not doing anything illegal are you?'

'I knew she was on drugs Helen! It's okay kiddo, we can get you help - '

'You're too young to be going out at night Daria - '

'My dad always thought I was on drugs… Always said I was a screw-up. Who's the crew up now dad!?'

'Jake,' Helen scolded, her husband crawling off to bed. 'What about school then? It may just be a Friday night, but Daria you need to consider college. What about your recommendations? All your teachers are worried you'll -'

Daria was walking down the hallway by this point after yelling a 'Bye' to her parents. To be fair, this was perhaps the most rebellious thing she had ever done; usually she wasn't required to be rebellious, nor did she require her parents' permission. But somewhere deep in her busily sparking brain was the knowledge she had to get out for the night.

She wondered how she would explain to Trent why she had called so late at night. Although he had said he was already awake, Daria felt she was an intrusion. They hadn't spoken for days but then she calls him out of the blue – again, he had said it was 'cool'. As she waited on the curb for him to arrive, her hands fiddled with the strap to her bag.

She expected her family to run out and drag her back inside – to tell her she was crazy for putting herself in such a situation with Trent. To remind her that she was a kid. Any further thoughts were stopped as something lashed in the distance; car lights materialised out of the darkness. What was inside caused Daria to grin, a rarity that no one managed to witness. She quickly covered her smile with her blank stare, her bag slipping just the slightest.

Within a blurred moment her bag was in the back seat of the car, her rear in the passenger seat and Trent stoically by her side. 'Hey,' Trent had said in his usual soft voice. It assumed nothing of the girl, while still welcoming everything she had to offer him. 'Why the late call? It's cool, I'm glad you did call… but it doesn't seem like something you'd do normally…'

'I'm old enough to be out at night, so I was wondering why I hadn't stayed out past curfew yet.'

'Oh, so I'm only your aide in breaking curfew now?'

'Well, you also offer mild amusement when drunk and have a car.'

'I'd say the same, but you're always amusing. And carless' Trent countered. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Daria flushed a dull red. 'Well whatever, I have some new song lyrics to show you… and a few band names. We were thinking of something like Tainted… something… any ideas?'

Helen and Jake had watched as Daria climbed into the car with Trent. Somehow they knew she was going to grow up, and considering the weeks, months and years they'd been dreading it… it didn't hurt as much as they feared. Ever since her youth she had, had trouble fitting in, in accepting others and even in just making a friend. So, to see her happy and going out was enough to make them back down and allow her to go with Trent.

Quinn, in a similar fashion, had noticed a car pulling up to the house. She was still up on her laptop talking to Sandy, so when the sound of brakes reverberated through the quiet suburban street she poked her head past her curtain. Somehow she didn't believe that Daria had gotten into the car, and that she had just imagined it. 'As if,' Quinn chuckled, her laptop still fixed to her fingertips.

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	22. His and Her Tattoos

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**Chapter Twenty-Two; His and Her Tattoos**

Daria and Trent arrived at the Lane household just a few minutes later. Although Daria could have easily walked from her house, she was thankful Trent had come to pick her up. Something seemed dangerous about walking around at night and on her own, even in a small town like Lawndale. As Daria fumbled to get her jammed seatbelt out of the lock, Trent had grabbed her tacky bag; at a late hour like this, his chivalry appreciated but unexpected. After Daria experienced a few minutes of failure, she had to be pitifully freed by Trent from the screwed up seatbelt lock. He locked up his car (which took around ten minutes, give or take) and the two walked up towards Casa Lane.

Within a few moments, Daria was perched on the edge of the couch, her hands tucked between her knees. This wasn't her idea of 'staying out at night' – this was staying over Jane's house, downstairs and on a couch. Trent had offered to take the couch, but Daria had refused. He seemed to elude that he didn't need to sleep on the couch, but Daria could still have his bed and was turned down once more. The two spent a few minutes chatting and avoiding the same, tired topic they always awkwardly ignored.

'I'm going out for dinner with Tom,' Daria pointed out, her hands now settled under her chin. Somehow she had mentally deemed this was the best topic to begin with, and somehow she felt she was now clinically insane. Trent seemed to twitch slightly at the news, but reacted little outside of this. 'It's just a friend's thing…' she added, her eyesight blurring over as she put her glasses into her pocket.

'Sounds cool,' Trent agreed as he took a seat next to Daria, one leg slung over the other. Daria noticeably shuffled away, but not in any direct fear of Trent. It was just her natural reaction to anyone and everything when she didn't have her glasses on. 'Me and Monique were thinking the same thing,' he countered, something that seemed to be organised within his mind rather than with Monique.

Daria felt her heart skip a beat. 'Oh.'

'As friends, too.'

'Oh.'

'Oh? Is that like a good 'oh', or bad 'oh'?' Trent countered, his arm slung over the back of the couch as he examined Daria. The two shared a tired glance over to the other before the usually bespectacled girl rubbed her eyes and turned away to face the blank TV.

'Why would it be bad? It's just as friends' Daria asked; her arms were crossed as she crept away from the arm of the couch and slowly settling closer to Trent. Partly this was in effort to see his face, partly because her whole reason for calling Trent was to resolve their – thing.

Trent seemed reluctant to reply, his hand simply itching at the back of his neck. 'Why do you always make me feel like an idiot?'

'I could ask you the same question.'

'But you're smart. I'm just a musician, I think with my heart and like… I dunno Daria, you make me feel like I'm always on trial,' Trent said with a gruff little laugh. He looked over Daria, a rare sight without her glasses perched on her nose.

Daria muttered something about Trent making her feel like some kind of alien with extra heads and a turnip for a nose. 'Well…' she attempted, fiddling with her hands before narrowing her eyes back to Trent. She pulled her glasses out once more and pushed them up the bridge of her nose – at this point she realised how much she had moved in attempts to see him. 'You make me act like an idiot, so… could this get any more awkward?' Daria asked, sitting back a little and turning her face away from Trent.

'You're fault,' Trent laughed, inching across the couch to Daria, his arm still across the back of the couch, 'you're the one who keeps going quiet and inching away.' He stopped inching as Daria was taking up only a third of the couch, whereas he was awkwardly sprawled across the other two thirds.

'Because you're so _amazing_ you leave me speechless,' Daria scoffed, her arms crossed across her chest.

'With your words I'm mess, with your look I'm speechless…' Trent hummed, looking off into the distance with a small grin. He felt his little mental creative block twitch, the words he'd been looking for suddenly start to flow in his mind. 'Wow, you're good at coming up with lyrics Daria.'

'Just what I've always wanted to hear,' Daria said, placing a hand on Trent's forehead and pushing him back a little. Rather than allowing himself to be pushed away, Trent grabbed her wrist and tugged her forward, a smile across his face. Daria instantly tensed, her eyes going wide and her glasses drooping down her face.

'What?'

'My personal space, you're in it,' she muttered, her neck arched as much as possible – she appreciated space between herself and others, especially when others consisted of Trent. He still had her wrist in his grip whilst his other arm had slipped around her waist.

'My personal space, it's where you find your place…' Trent hummed once more, placing a rather bold peck on her forehead. Daria didn't flinch or cringe, she simply scoffed. 'I was just thinking its way too lumpy and harsh down here for you. You have to have my bed,' Trent said with a nod, picking Daria up in one swift movement. Now holding her bridal style, Daria clung for dear life.

'You've been drinking haven't you… what was it, Jane's mentholated spirits?' Daria mumbled against his shoulder, trying not to allow herself to get any closer to Trent.

'No Daria, you just make me want to write, like one of those muses or something,' Trent grinned, grabbing Daria's bag with an awkward shuffle before carrying the petite Daria up to his room and flopping backwards onto the bed. She rolled ungracefully out of his grip, her expression entirely shocked.

'…Moonshine off a friendly neighbourhood hobo. Maybe something you found on the street. Trent, you shouldn't -'

'Daria, I'm just trying to get you to talk for once. And it's working,' Trent triumphantly slumping onto the bed, his hands settled behind his head. Daria gave him a rather annoyed glare before inching toward the edge of the bed. 'What's wrong?'

Daria paused, her mind swimming in the blush that was now across her cheeks. 'I feel I should be irate and annoyed at you,' Daria pointed out, her glasses now tossed aside on the bedside table. 'I mean, you and I; we're nothing. I mean, we're not dating. We're just randomly hanging out and occasionally – well, stuff that couples do. Y'know what I mean,' she trailed off, propping herself up on the bed with her hands.

Trent raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was something to be concerned about. When he thought about it, he had never put practical thought into what label he could afford to slap onto his relationship with Daria. She was younger, a fact he easily forgot whenever they spent time together; she was also smarter, a fact he couldn't as easily forget. 'Do you want it to be dating then?' he asked, looking at her with an intrigued but confused look. The dating he knew involved girls like Monique, or girls that claimed to be groupies.

A few mumbled noises resulted in Trent sitting up and leaning over Daria, an eyebrow coyly raised, 'I heard a yes.'

'I didn't say that,' Daria tried to defend, her cheeks turning red again. She sat up, trying to get her boots untied. She wanted to turn around and put her feet on the bed, but felt it would be rude to just trample all over the covers – even if they were questionable.

'Yeah you did,' Trent purred, his smile growing.

'You're really persistent for someone who's usually sleeping or catatonic,' Daria pointed out, her feet now free of the boots. Daria turned to examine Trent before being pulled into his lap.

'I've worked out what I need to be – you're too blind to see,' Trent continued to hum, his voice lacking his usual grunge appeal.

'I don't need a stronger prescription.'

'Haha,' Trent stated quietly, his arms wound around her waist once more, 'if you were so against it, why would you be here right now and not trying to fight your way out of the house or out of my room at the very least? I'm sure Tom's waiting for you outside with a bouquet of $100 notes,' Trent grinned, his chin now resting on Daria's shoulder. She had her back flat against his chest, a position that rendered her defenceless but quietly content.

'He's standing next to Monique who's got -' Daria trailed off. She didn't actually feel up to mocking the other girl, especially when she was flush against Trent. 'New topic?' With that, the conversation shifted for the better. They discussed TV shows, music, movies and, in some very rare moments, books. The school made them read the same book in every English class so Trent marvelled alongside Daria at the school's poor choices… not that Trent was a seasoned reader.

In the same sense, Daria smiled (in her own way) and nodded along to Trent's rambles about bands, music and whatever else he had cooped up in his mind. If there was anything Daria could do, it was pretend to care and look like she was listening. As their conversation began to dip and they seemed to be yawning more than speaking, Daria and Trent slumped out across the mattress. Daria remained laced in his arms and ignored the fact they hadn't bothered to change. She pressed her nose into Trent's shoulder, her hands settled against his chest as he struggled with the blankets.

Being the man of the relationship, Daria sat up and fixed them. This was actually impressive, considering her lack of sight. She returned to her spot, though this time she was greeted by a pair of arms wrapping around her waist. She smiled once more, a few light kisses working their way across her cheek. In some spaced out gesture, she returned them, but only to the spot just below his chin – anywhere else was out of her reach. She blushed the entire time, unsure how she had managed herself into this situation – tenderness didn't strike her as something Trent was overly fond of, nor was it her kind of thing. There was a distorted hacking sound as Trent coughed, but it didn't seem as jarring as usual. He had made some small, frail attempt not to stir the girl he had in his arms.

'So, this has been bugging me… Are we dating now?' Daria stated flatly, trying to get the question out.

'If you wanna be so clinical about it… yeah, we are… I think,' Trent tiredly agreed.

'Excellent.'

'Cool.'

'Good. We don't need his and her tattoos now do we?' Daria inquired,

'Mh. Night.'

'That isn't an answer.'

'You really are awkward Daria, just relax a little,' Trent laughed, his fingers tapping along her spine for a moment. He felt her tense and shiver, though this came with a scowl he could only assume she was sending him. With that last gesture, the two were almost instantly catatonic. And, considering the tension, the build up and the emotions flickering between the two, it was probably ideal the conversation had taken place when they were both tired as hell, and in such a manner.

_Don't forget to review!_

_AN; Finally I get to write some delicious fluff between them, whilst trying to keep it in character. As I said above, please don't forget to review, as it's what keeps me writing and what keeps my story on the right track! I did revise an entire chapter based on criticism, so I don't fear it, I crave it. Thanks for your time!_


	23. Catching On

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**Chapter Twenty-Three; Catching On**

The sun was Daria's one and only adversary – at least when it was in the morning and trying to worm it's way into her eyes. During the course of the night and her slumber, something had dawned on her (ignoring the lame pun). She was due to head off to college within a few months, rendering her relationship with a matter of time, rather than fate. Her grip flexed for a moment as she attempted to pull herself from Trent's gangly arms. Maybe it was a little rushed that she and Trent had decided to 'date'. Then again, the past few months and the several conversations they had maintained made her hope otherwise; the key term being 'hope' of course. Trent was a temperamental musician with little more than his _cool_ persona to get him by.

Maybe her sleep deprived state was playing tricks on her, and that she only thought he had asked her to date; to accept the role as 'girlfriend'. She laughed inwardly for a second before managing to get her legs over the edge of the bed. Her escape was almost complete until Trent pulled her back, keeping her firmly in place within his arms. Perhaps he thought she was someone better looking, older, maybe he thought she was Monique.

'Morning Daria,' he muttered through closed eyes and a pleased grin.

Perhaps she needed to stop being so insecure.

'Uhm, morning,' Daria replied quietly. She a little thrown off by these words; she had never been in a situation that had required her to say 'morning' to someone of the opposite sex who wasn't her father. The sentiment made her mind shudder for a moment as she tried to retrieve her voice.

'Good sleep?'

'As good as it can get wedged between you and a mattress.'

Trent just smirked back, holding back a comment that he knew he'd get smacked for. Daria was thankful for this as she had instantly regretted her phrasing – she always regretted her phrasing around Trent. The two slowly, and albeit reluctantly, woke up. They faced one another with an altered perspective. They were dating now, and that meant something. At least, it meant that she was going to have to answer to a man once again. Wow, Mrs. Bach was getting to her. Daria pulled her shoes on and stretched before she felt the now-familiar sensation of Trent gazing over her.

'What?' she asked sharply over her shoulder, hands twisting and swirling about and as she tried to rush her shoes on.

'You look like you just went through a tornado,' Trent noted in his usual dulcet tones, a hand coming to run through his hair. He made an unsuccessful swipe at Daria before slumping back onto the bed with a yawn.

'Don't flatter yourself,' Daria cleverly grinned to herself, her shoes now on and tied. It was a bit of a bitch wearing combat boots on a daily basis, but it was something she was willing to maintain. It wasn't as if she applied make-up or did her hair.

'Why are you awake?'

'Because I'm not tired anymore. You shouldn't be tired either…' Daria explained back, feeling as if she was talking to someone much younger than herself; it shocked her to think he was almost 23. Then again, at other times he seemed much older than that. She felt this was only highlighted when he talked to her as if she were his equal, a peer and a friend. And surprisingly, he _did _understand her despite all her stigma and grief.

'So, uhm… I still owe you that dinner,' Trent admitted, one of his knees loosely hugged up to his chest, 'I have a gig tomorrow night though, we can't make it then…'

'My dinner with Tom is tomorrow night anyway so -' Daria explained, her hands futilely trying to flatten her hair into place. She noted a change in the atmosphere, her eyes switching to Trent. He seemed suddenly preoccupied, his previously devoted attention drawn away by something. 'What?'

'Does that mean you're not coming to my gig then?'

'Sorry, my ability to read minds has been a bit off recently,' Daria trailed off, a pair of arms making a small effort to wrap around her waist. She blushed, but less than usual… her face split into a lazy smile, her eyelids dropping shut. The arms that were so briefly around her were pulled away as Trent got up out of bed. She noticed he had kept his shoes on from the previous night, a notion that made her nose crinkle just a little.

'Nah, it's cool. You can just cancel your plans and head over to the Zen,' Trent said with a joking smile. Daria missed the smile, her eyebrows narrowed and her glasses back onto her face. Though she didn't say anything, she picked up her bag and exited the room to go get changed in the bathroom. She couldn't see herself wearing the same clothes two days in a row, hence why she owned several of the same outfit. Somehow, putting her boots on first had made sense at the time but now made no sense. Upon her return, Daria examined Trent.

'I can make it to the gig later on,' Daria admitted as she watched Trent closely. He didn't look any different, so Daria assumed he wasn't going to bother getting changed. Much to her surprise (and amusement) Trent passed a glance over her before pulling the shirt off and throwing it aside. As if he had planned it, it landed across her face. Daria scowled a little and plucked it up between her index finger and thumb, narrowing her eyes at Trent. 'Classy.'

'Could say the same,' a voice scoffed from the doorway, 'Trent, some guy is here for you. When you're done with whatever I just got scarred with, of course,' Jane seemed to physically shiver. Trent grunted in acknowledgement, walking off towards the door before being pushed back by Jane – 'you need a shirt before you go downstairs. He looks official.'

'Did I forget about the bills again?' Trent asked as he scratched his head. Within a few moments, Trent was off downstairs leaving Jane and Daria alone.

'So.'

'Yeah.'

'Paper thin walls Morgendorffer, just remember that. Paper thin walls,' Jane trailed off, pretending to back away. She received a small frown from Daria, something that didn't surprise her. After a few moments, Daria had very forcefully made her point; they had just slept in the same bed, nothing suspicious or even worth talking about. The conversation was stuck at this point, the two girls unsure where to continue from here.

'The points of light that you see behind your eyelids when you shut your eyes really hard are called phosphenes,' Daria said in an off-handed manner, her attention shifting between Jane and the door.

'While I appreciate the effort to distract me, I feel this time could be better spent eating pizza.'

'Fair call, but it's only about…' Daria checked Trent's discarded watch, '4PM.' Her face registered her shock, her eyes widening and her hand dropping. 'Four PM? How did I sleep in till – how is that even possible?' Daria asked, her eyes darting back to Jane.

'Welcome to the life of Trent,' Jane accented this phrase with a wiggle of her fingers, grinning towards Daria, 'c'mon, my treat.' The two exited Trent's room, Daria carrying her huge bag with a little difficulty.

'Can we drop this off first?' she asked, her eyes narrowed in attempts to lug it behind her. Jane agreed as they descended the stairs, only stopping when she saw Trent and the professionally-dressed man in the doorway. Whatever conversation they had been having was ended, with Trent waving goodbye and turning back to examine Jane and Daria.

'What?'

'Uhm… wanna come for pizza?' Jane asked, dropping down to the final step of the stairs.

'Sure.' Trent smiled and nodded, taking the bag off Daria and walking outside. The two were confused as to what just happened, but figured it was a conversation for later. Jane took the front seat after Daria had developed a vendetta against it and its faulty buckle.

Upon their arrival to the small pizza place, Daria felt a small moment of déjà-vu. This is where it had all began, where they had first shared a discussion on how impractical they were together… where he had taken her to chat about Tom and other various issues… and now they were going here once more, just to gather some pizza between the three of them. But they were a couple now…

'Who was that guy?' Jane asked with a slice of pizza slackly clutched in her hand, her arm leaning against the edge of the table. Trent took a few moments to reply, prompting Jane to ask the question several more times. 'Trent, are you even paying attention?'

Trent seemed entranced in the red sludge on top of the pizza, his eyes unfocused. 'He was an agent… he wanted to sign Mystik.'

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_AN: Shush up, I know it's overdone. : P_


	24. A Piercing Encounter

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**Chapter Twenty-Four; A Piercing Encounter**

'You said no to an agent?' Jane managed, her voice shaking. Daria and Jane had spent the better part of the day trying to get the answer out of Trent; he seemed reluctant to discuss the matter any further than its occurrence. 'You, a struggling musician, said no to an offer of a tour and a paid series of gigs? Oy,' Jane sighed, her hands settling on her hips. She and her brother had arrived home, and only then had he admitted to his sister the truth of the arrangement.

'I got bad vibes from him.'

'You said no because of bad vibes… Trent, Trent, Trent…' Jane stuttered out, her mind completely boggled, 'you like money right? Money is good, especially when you earn it for stuff you _already_ do... Right?'

Trent shrugged half-heartedly, his eyes settling on the wall opposite for a few moments before he headed upstairs. Jane just watched in complete and utter confusion, expecting some kind of response or another. Out of instinct, she called Daria as she heard Trent's door shut. And, as per usual, her best friend was over in the blink of an eye – well, twenty minutes or so, at least. Upon her arrival, they headed for Jane's room for some scheduled hang-out time that only they understood the importance of.

Daria had, had to leave the pizza place to go home and make an appearance within her house. She didn't need her family to get _worried_ or anything and come out looking for her. Assuming they recalled her existence in the world, of course. She had a few hours before she was due to go out for dinner, well… two. It was enough time for Jane and Daria to sit around and do what they did best with one another, sans any external interference.

Excluding the huge 'issue' of Trent being approached by an agent.

After around an hour of silence, Daria finally broke the quiet tension with a small sigh. 'I guess I'm supposed to be thrilled with the very idea that I may become the proverbial arm candy of some rocker,' Daria said in a lacklustre voice, her eyes dropping down her book. She and Jane made a habit of spending at least a few hours each week just sitting around and doing nothing but creative pursuits… otherwise TV would eat up their time.

'You would be expected to act thrilled. I mean, if he had agreed with the nice music agent …'

'Trent said no to a chance to sign up Mystik Spiral to a contract?'

'I believe he said it in less words, but that was the general _vibe_ I got from him,' Jane half explained, half scoffed. Her brush, taking measured strokes across the white span of canvas, was beginning to form a face in a contorted scream, 'He gave that "corporate fat-cat" the big ehn-oh.' The two shared a moment of grieving silence over the idea before Daria slipped off the bed. Jane gave a knowing nod as Daria wandered out the door, a moment of forgiving eye contact shared between them before Daria disappeared down the hallway.

Daria remained quiet. She felt it was perhaps something she wasn't supposed to know, or something she had no say in; she was just his kid sister's best friend… oh, and his very, _very _recently acquired girlfriend. The thought made her smirk a little, her eyes dropping to the ground in front of her. 'No time,' she thought before knocking at Trent's door. Upon their departure from the pizza place, Trent and Daria had shared a vocal farewell, waving as Trent sped off toward their own house with Jane in tow.

The door opened a crack.

'Oh. Hey Daria,' Trent hacked, peeking through the crack between the frame and the door itself.

'You said no?'

Trent was silent before sighing and opening the door. 'Damn…' He seemed about the same; tousled hair, grey jeans, olive shirt and a smattering of tattoos. They shared a brief interlude between conversations for to simply examine one another. 'Janey told you, right?'

'No, I simply followed a series of clues. Why did you say no?'

'Why would I say yes?'

Daria was baffled, 'The fame, if not the money; you wanted to get big with Mystik Spiral, play gigs, get illustrious enough for platinum records, then get high or drunk or whatever it is you do. To then, of course, pass out on whatever is closest to you, whether it's a pile of money or a tacky limousine,' she said all this in a monotone, and in a rush. She was walking the line between serious and joking, though it was hard to tell. She only understood that Trent created music for the sake of Mystik's appeal to others… as well as expressing himself. She wondered if it were possible to do both at once, as she found the notion of expressing yourself to be a penniless line of work.

'So? Doesn't mean that guy can get us anywhere. He seemed full of fake promises and hollow words…. He was talking about making us practise, and practise some more… like we weren't good enough as it was. Mystik is grunge, not some practising group of musicians… if that makes sense,' Trent concluded his rambled point, his arms crossed across his chest.

Daria was almost literally dumbstruck. She had rarely heard of small-time garage bands turning down an agent, especially when they were as unknown and underappreciated as Mystik. Daria measured her words, trying to vocalise her concern and upset. She wanted to see them flourish and to prosper; and, even in her cynical comment about becoming arm-candy, to know a rock star was kinda cool… even if she hated to admit it. 'Trent, you're just making excuses…'

Trent shrugged, his hands digging into his pockets in a physical representation of the fact he couldn't care less about more than one thing at the moment. He appreciated her effort, but Trent was a man who based himself in how he felt, and why he felt it. 'I dunno Daria… I didn't like him.'

Daria sighed one final time, her hand pressed against her forehead. She supposed it was – fair enough, in some way or another. Trent had his band, and had the choice as to who was going to represent them. It could seem a little desperate to just accept the offer because it was their first offer. Her thoughts were interrupted by a small coughing sound.

Trent raised an eyebrow, his fist poised just in front of his face, 'I can tell him it's a maybe if it means all that much to you…' he added as a seeming afterthought; without much in the way of warning, Trent had let his hand drop to tug at Daria's shoulder. She felt a hand make a very passive path to the back of her neck, his fingertips brushing against the base of her neck as he placed a gentle yet earthy kiss on her lips. Much more intimate than any he had attempted before, yet nothing that shocked her. She _had_ dated Tom, so she wasn't the blushing virgin of yesteryear. This gesture lasted a little longer than either would admit, only interrupted as Daria tugged away. It seemed she was slowly being exposed to the reason Monique wouldn't leave Trent for good.

'Yeah, you can tell him it's a maybe for now. At least appear to have some competition; who knows, others might start battling to the death for the rights to represent you… or to get away from you.'

'That's all you have to say…? You're such a misery chick,' Trent said in an offended voice, his smirk revealing more than his tone ever could.

---

In light of Daria's intervention, Trent was partially forced into taking advantage of the role as liaison between his band and the agent. The more the agent spoke, the less Trent liked him. But, as Daria had said, it would be worth keeping a few options open in case things went downhill. That night, in all its repetitive glory, was another gig at the Zen. Trent only found this dull because it was the same stock, standard crowd with the same stock, standard expectations. This did make him ponder over the offer on more than a few occasions leading up to the gig, but nothing noteworthy.

Along with his growing concern for his band, there was also the growing concern that Daria wouldn't attend the gig that night. It wasn't so much a concern as a disappointment, but it didn't stop him from _feeling _concerned. After all, he hadn't actually told anyone about himself and Daria as of yet – no point in jinxing it.

'Your girlfriend coming then?'

_Damn. _Trent thought. 'Uh… who?'

'The glasses chick you've been hooking up with that's like twelve. Darius or something?' Max shot back, his smile fading as he saw Trent's expression. He was a big scaredy-cat, even if he acted and pretended to be some big, bad metal star.

'Daria, uh… don't know,' Trent said with a small shrug, sitting with his legs hanging over the edge of the stage. To be fair, his band had gotten more coverage over the past few years than ever before… It probably fell onto the fact he and his band did little more than play gig after gig, sometimes even managing to attend school functions and birthdays. He looked out over the crowd seeing volumes of black-haired, black-clad people with dark makeup and dark outlooks… such a welcoming crowd of faces for his own brand of grunge. He wondered for a moment if he would make an improvement by wearing all black and trying to match his audience.

The thought was instantly shaken away, his usual neutrality being replaced with a dull smile. 'Audiences mimic musicians, not the other way around…' he muttered before noticing a few people coming his way; just fans, he dismissed mentally, but something he could be thankful for nonetheless. Distractions were distractions after all.

---

Towards the end of the night, Trent had been looking out across the crowd and expecting to see Daria's face. Much to his concerned disappointment, she seemed to be absent from the gig. It was roughly 11 and, by the looks of the crowd, dinner had to be well and truly over for some time. The final notes sounded and the crowd cheered as Trent excused himself from stage. He announced a pseudo-intermission as he searched out a phone, finally arriving at one with a broken button or two. Fortunately, he was able to work his way around the broken buttons.

It rung.

And rung.

And, finally, it was picked up.

'Hello, Morgendorffer residence, if you're attempting to sell anything please keep in mind I will sue you into the next millennia. Hello?' The voice was professional, but sluggish. Something about it struck a familiar chord in Trent's mind. After a moment, he distinguished it was Helen. She was, as he predicted, asleep at the time he had called. Having waited a few seconds too many to answer, Trent hung up the phone. Seeing as Helen had been asleep, it meant Daria was at home. There was no way that woman would sleep with the knowledge her daughters were out and about.

This puzzled him; Daria had said she would be at the gig after dinner… but she wasn't around. As he returned to the stage, he spotted the face he'd been searching for tailing his younger sister… it was like the two were somehow attached at the hip sometimes. Jane seemed to head off with another girl as Daria was left next to the stage. It was like someone _up there_ was trying to spite him, seeing as he had just called Daria's home.

Daria had been out and about with Tom; they'd gotten dinner and attended a late screening of a film only available after a certain hour of the night… something about it enacting the wrath of God otherwise she had been told, but it meant nothing to her. Tom had gracefully dropped her off and said a short goodnight, something else she was actually thankful for. She had expected bad blood to exist between them, but instead she was left with a friend of some kind.

Trent and Daria spared little time in explaining to the band they were going out for pizza. Trent, however, had to spare a few additional moments explaining they _couldn't_ come. This seemed to upset Max the most, the member who had previously been attempting to act macho against the wall of the Zen.

So in all her routine reliability, Daria returned to the pizza place. This was the fourth or fifth time she had gone to this place in the past 48 hours; she feared the owners would soon know her name rather than ignore her existence. It wouldn't surprise her if she was featured on the wall with a tacky bib and a smattering of pizza toppings across her face. It seemed only appropriate as the smallish pizza Trent returned with was set down in front of her.

'So… uh…' Trent eloquently began, his eyes darting from the pizza to Daria, then back again. 'I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date sometime,' Trent swallowed his awkwardness, managing to cover it with an pleased grin and somewhat suave grin. He was the master of awkward endearment, even if its appeal fell directly to the fact he was like a puppy. Daria also found herself envisioning a send-up of Nirvana whenever she was Trent singing and playing guitar. However, this thought process and mental image was soon ignored for the sake of conversation.

'What do you call this?' Daria asked as she waved her hand about the store.

'Pizza.' Trent replied, as if it were obvious.

'I call it a date, seeing as we're alone, we're stuffing our faces and there's a distinct sense of propriety you usually find when you're trying to impress someone.' Daria explained in a blank tone. Her hand was now tucked under her chin as she lazily sipped at her drink; straws were convenient, as they meant she didn't have to move her head or hands extensively.

'You talk too much,' Trent smirked, idly tapping his fingers on the table in some out-of-tune rhythm. It was clear why he wasn't a drummer. Daria, growing frustrated and bored with the sound, reached out to swat at his hand. Trent raised an eyebrow, snatching the hand and smiling back to her. He wondered if she'd try and get the hand back or if she'd just ignore him.

'Someone's bold,' Daria countered, lightly tugging at her hand.

'Someone's just a bookworm.'

'So now we're to name-calling... Why do I bother with you?'

'Because… I haven't worked it out yet…' Trent tugged the hand to his lips, pressing a few kisses to the back of it. Daria instantly turned the colour of the pizza's sauce, ripping the hand away and sinking into the seat. Daria forgot that because Trent wasn't great at school, work or anything practical, he was still way too suave for his own good. It was something she experience first hand as a result of their time together, and a little fact she felt should have remained quiet for a lot longer.

'Why aren't you eating?' Daria asked, her eyes narrowed slightly.

Trent gave a relatively pleased smile, his arms crossed across the table as he leant forwards for, what Daria assumed was, dramatic effect. After a few moments of silence, he summed up the courage to tell her. 'Uh, Axl was having another two-for-one deal… Me and Monique went in and got piercings.' With that, he flashed his tongue. A silver stud sat directly in the middle, a sight that instantly made Daria's eyes almost tripled in size.

'Aren't they supposed to swell and hurt for the first few days? And you had a gig; why would you take a risk like that?'

'I trust Axl, he knows what he's doing,' Trent assured her. Daria simple scoffed, recalling her own itchy piercing and how badly that had gone for her. 'It hurt less than what Monique got done –'

'If you wanted me to stop eating you could have just said it.'

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	25. In His Dreams

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**Chapter Twenty-Five; In His Dreams**

The citizens of Lawndale spent the next few days drenched in unseasonal rain – they rarely suffered any particular extremes, the suburb always maintaining a balance between light drizzles and passably warm days. However, in the dismal weather Daria found solace. Her mother didn't ask her why she wasn't outside, and she had an excuse to remain at Jane's house. And, with the barely hidden relationship between herself and Trent, Daria needed various reasons to remain over at Jane's house without raising suspicions.

Another bonus was the additional time she and Trent would spend tucked away in his bedroom away from the cold. Despite all their time together, Jane and Daria felt they had a balance. Fortunately they were never that concerned with how much time they had and hadn't spent together, but it was definitely a consideration Daria took into account. There would be nothing worse than letting a guy get between them as they had in the past; even if this guy was Jane's brother. And, on the matter, Jane and Taylor seemed to still be together, at least to Daria's knowledge.

'Can I ask you something?' Daria pre-emptively hummed under her breath, her eyes focused on the end of Trent's bed. They had been sitting there for the better part of the day, staring idly at the television that Trent had received from Jesse a few days back.

'No.' He paused, sensing Daria had taken him seriously. 'I was kidding, ask away,' he laughed. The girl turned a bemused look toward him before he sighed out a small apology.

'What're we going to do when I head off to Raft?'

Trent made a few confused and thoughtful noises, his eyes dropping to the guitar in hand. He discarded it for the moment to draw Daria closer. This was a topic he had put thought into, but this left him more concerned and depressed than reassured. He had, unbeknownst to Jane and Daria, reconsidered the agent. The two girls had persuaded him into the consideration, but he wasn't going to promise anything; hence his reluctance to reveal the very tentative contract.

Daria, in her own haste and misconceptions, found that the space between school and her induction to Raft was only a matter of time. It seemed as if she had been given the short end of the stick, so to speak. There was a few weeks left before her and Jane headed off toward their respective but close colleges. Each time this realisation hit, she would think of Trent. Little else meant much to her in Lawndale, especially with the passing weeks they'd spent awkwardly dancing around one another… whether or not all the lead up was wasted opportunities or moments to regret, Daria was unsure.

'Well? What will we do?'

'I dunno Daria,' Trent yawned, slumping back onto the bed and mildly dozing off.

Daria simply made an unimpressed noise and slipped off the edge of the bed, her hands tucked between her knees. She wondered to herself if it was worth pressing the matter anymore. She guessed Trent would probably suggest a long-distance relationship to be nice, but it would end with her running off with someone else, and Trent with another Monique. 'Trent, have you ever considered that sleeping all the time could be harmful to you?'

'Well… I did make an appointment to see a doctor about it once, like… four years ago.'

'And what did they say?'

'I dunno I missed the appointment because I slept in till four in the afternoon…' Trent paused, sitting up from his very momentary slumber. 'I guess I just like dreaming… I mean, you can do whatever you want, you don't have to work, you don't have to worry – I don't have to worry about what I stand to lose,' he added out of some odd poetic necessity that seemed lost on Daria.

'Dreaming all the time doesn't get you anywhere,' Daria said in a forceful sigh, her hand darting behind her ear to tuck her hair away. 'Doesn't matter though,' Daria shook her head and dismissed the topic. She slipped off the bed and sunk her feet into her boots. Trent seemed to watch in his own brand of surprise as she wandered out of the room and down towards the front door. Out of necessity, she yelled a goodbye and an excuse to leave.

'Hey, uh, wait,' Trent stumbled over the edge of the bed and walked as fast as he could manage. 'The agent, y'know the one I said no to – he wants Mystik to perform so a few of his colleagues can see us… I want you to be there.'

Daria slowed before her hand met the door, her gaze barely parting from the front door. 'Don't I always go to your performances?' she rhetorically asked with her Mona Lisa smile parting her lips. It felt nice to act as the confident one, rather than the bumbling teen girl of yesteryear.

'I thought you were mad,' Trent reproachfully stated as he descended the stairs.

'I'm not mad, I just wanted to see if you were willing to chase something rather than dream about it,' Daria mumbled a she leant back against the front door, one boot-clad foot swinging back to press against the door.

'… Deep, Daria.'

'No, cheesy. We're going to have to work on your lyrics before this performance.'

'So you're looking forward to being my proverbial arm candy then?' Daria peered up as Trent closed the space between them, slinging an arm across the door above Daria's head. It amused him she was so short, and this gesture always made her frown – he could tell she loved it to, it allowed her to feel some kind of girlish spark. She was always his mental superior, so his height allowed him something to hold over her – metaphorically.

The reality of the statement, however, hit Daria a few seconds later. Rather than smirking up at the older male, she frowned a little more. 'Jane _told_ you? I hope she has fun trying to paint with a broken arm,' Daria sarcastically drawled. They both knew she could never physically injure someone, so the comment was more flippant than menacing.

'I think it's kinda cute though Dar.'

'Dar?'

'I'm working on a nickname… I'll get something eventually,' Trent shrugged, liking the nickname even if she didn't. 'And imagine all the hot outfits I could buy you.'

'Ignoring the conversation on cheesy one-liners we just had, in your dreams Lane.'

Trent gave a simple grin, bending down to peck the girl on the lips. They shared a momentary kiss and a gentle, amorous hug before Daria wandered out of the Lane household, fighting against overgrown grass and a stuffed mailbox. Trent had offered a lift, but Daria always liked to walk – especially in the light drizzle that continued to fall on her _beloved_ Lawndale.

-----

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	26. An Actress Is Born

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**Chapter Twenty-Six; An Actress Is Born**

Daria arrived at home, mildly dampened by the rain she had just walked through. Despite the uncomfortable sensation of water splattered across her hair and face, she felt a little refreshed. The Lane household smelled of art supplies, burnt clay and incense. While it was a familiar and welcome smell, it was a little overwhelming sometimes; especially when Trent tried to convince her that he didn't smoke by putting out more incense than usual.

She could taste the fact he smoked by walking into his room and even in hugging him. She didn't know whether or not to mind, seeing as it was his choice. Within a few seconds, she was in her own room and free of the world outside her padded walls. A few moments passed between her arrival home and her boredom returning. Maybe she should have Jane come stay over so they could eat pizza and complain about various social issues they faced.

Before that, however, Daria decided to spend some alone time reading the magazine she'd purchased a while ago. It sat unread on her bedside table; the pages were slightly tattered from the number of times it'd fallen from its perch. She tugged it onto her bed and slumped back against her pillow, her boots now discarded on the floor beside her.

As soon as she settled into her article, a knock sounded from her door. She acknowledged the sound, yelling out a 'come in' before continuing to read the rambled recollections of alien settlements a few suburbs over. Tabloids were hilarious to her, mostly due to the fact it distracted her from her own weird life.

'Daria, I've heard rumours about yourself and that Trent Lane fellow,' Helen said in a guarded tone, her voice oddly cautious.

Daria could have died in this moment, but she kept a prevalently calm exterior. Thankful for her years as an outcast, she kept her cool. Looking up from the magazine that was laying across her lap, Daria narrowed her eyes in confusion. 'Rumours? You mean Quinn told you and you're afraid I'll exact revenge if you admit it?'

'No, no… well… Of course your sister told me – I mean, don't be mad at her… She was just worried about you and -' she paused at seeing the entirely unbelieving expression Daria sent her way, 'Alright, we caught her sneaking out the other night and she told us to lessen her sentence… I have a feeling you would have worked this out anyway,' she added carefully, her eyes narrowed towards the wall. Her daughter definitely shared her sharp wit, or so she liked to believe.

'Oh is that all… who knew backstabbing was still as rampant as ever.'

'So it's true then?'

'No.'

'Oh Daria, you haven't been pressured into anything have you? I mean, I'm sure he's a lovely boy and all, but he is a few years older than you so I'd hate to hear that he's forced you into anything -'

'Stop, okay, okay, it's true, stop talking,' Daria said gingerly, her hands resting against her ears. She knew her mother had only blabbed like that to make her talk – if there was anything Helen Morgendorffer knew, it was how to make Daria admit things she would never usually admit. Noticing the triumphant little smile that Helen now held across her face, Daria reaffirmed there was no possibility she was adopted. 'Can I end this conversation somehow?'

'Just hear me out -'

'Again, any way to end this conversation?'

Helen disappeared for a moment before returning to her elder daughter's room, a non-descript brown bag clutched in her hand. Daria pre-emptively flinched, her face twisting into a disgusted little frown. 'Mom.'

'Just take them,' Helen warned, the two sharing an awkward glance. Neither wanted to approach the topic any further. 'Feel like cheese and crackers?'

Daria examined the small box within the bag, shaking her head. 'Oh good, my favourite brand.'

'Now I know your trying to make me give you the talk.'

'Cheese and crackers sounds good, mom.' This was a sentence Daria never felt she would utter – anything to end this as soon as possible, her cheeks a dull thumping red. She was thankful her father wasn't around, fearful of what he would have done. Thrown up, passed out, gone into a coma – all these were very real possibilities. Moments passed between Helen and Daria before a much needed hug was shared. Neither said much, or even acknowledged the gesture – but there was an unspoken agreement they would talk.

'So you approve…?'

'If it makes you happy, I'm happy…' Helen said with some uneasiness. While true, she hoped it wouldn't harm Daria for the relationship to continue. She had raised a smart girl, so her apprehension could only last so long.

Even if Daria was queasy at the idea of physical intimacy of this calibre, she wouldn't allow her mother to stress and worry at home. It was some kind of realisation she felt came with turning 18, though this was something else she wouldn't admit. Helen told Daria that she was due to go out with dinner with work associates, which was only confirmed by the sound of Jake complaining loudly from downstairs, yelling something about upstarts in tuxedoes.

'I'll see you later then… uhm. Have fun.'

Helen seemed softly teary-eyed, allowing herself a moment to relish Daria's kind words. Though she knew Daria loved her, and that they rarely admitted it, 'Oh – of course. I'd better go get ready… and make sure your father doesn't make a run for it.' She disappeared from the room, a hand clutched against her chest and her face turned down slightly to the floor.

Daria examined the bag once more, gingerly plucking the box from within. 'God,' she muttered, pushing them back into the bag and shoving them under her bed. She wouldn't need them, she wouldn't need them, she _**wouldn't **_need them. Now, with the box of plastic little squares was stashed away and hidden, Daria felt her mind tugged back the article she had been reading prior to her mother's interruption.

The door opened a crack.

'Daria?'

'Ah, the traitor makes herself known. Brave Quinn,' Daria muttered, laying down on her stomach, her arms crossed under her chin as she continued to read her magazine.

'I just wanted to say I was sorry.' Quinn assured Daria, her arms crossed and her face turned away from the older girl.

'Oh thanks, now I don't feel as creeped out by the conversation I just had with mom,' Daria flipped the page over, continuing to read about the alien settlement that was apparently being built overnight in towns. She had to admit that farmers were really getting their 15 minutes of fame in these cheap, unreliable magazines.

A weight settled on the edge of her bed, causing Daria to sit up. Quinn seemed to be solemn, oddly quiet for her usual bubbly, pink-shirted self. 'You really like him huh?'

Daria mentally began swearing to herself, mostly exclamations for a merciful god somewhere to strike her down where she sat. The last thing she needed after that discussion with her mother was one with Quinn. Shaking away her hair from her eyes, Daria fiddled with the edge of her glasses. 'Uh. Yeah… I guess.' The was a pause and no noticeable continuation of conversation. 'Why? What happened? Did Stacey sharpen her eyeliner too much or something?'

'No, that was last week…' Quinn morosely sighed, her knees now hugged to her chest. 'I want a boyfriend.'

Daria felt her heart stop – why was she having this conversation with her sister? Wasn't this against everything she knew? Wasn't Quinn's mob of girlish henchmen more suited to this kind of conversation? Her eyes darted between her small TV and the saddening frame of Quinn. 'Then get one?'

'Oh Daria, it's not as simple for us popular people… you have to pick someone who's as popular as you! I mean, they can't be less popular, because then you're less popular… but if they're **more** popular then you have no chance with them. See what I mean?' Quinn seemed deadly serious about the topic, her eyes still glued to her feet, her arms wrapped around her knees. 'So I have to make sure they're as popular. Then I have to make sure they're as good-looking as me without being too -'

'Stop,' Daria managed to choke, her eyes widening slightly. 'Quinn, are you even listening to yourself? A boyfriend isn't a handbag you can change with your outfits and choose through categories of popularity…' Daria scratched her own neck before sitting at the edge of her bed. With a deep breath, she hung her head and mumbled out a long speech. Most of it was missed, due to the rushed, scared pace it was said but the message was clear. 'If all you're worried about is a guy who can make you look _good_ then you don't deserve a boyfriend. Maybe wait till you're a little more mature,' Daria softly suggested, her hand resting on Quinn's shoulder.

'But I am mature! People always think I'm like, 23 but in a good way. I never get asked for ID and I always get asked out by older guys…'

'Again, you're missing the point. Why do you think I'm dating Trent?'

'Because he's a singer in a band, has a,' she paused and laughed,' I guess you could call it a car. And he's old enough to buy you alcohol if you wanted it. I suppose he's also got a bit of income -'

Daria stared at her sister, literally dumbstruck by the trivial things she pulled out of her swollen head. 'Quinn, grow up. I know you don't believe half of the stuff you talk about, and I know you liked that tutor you had a while ago,' Daria was met with a look of shock, 'yeah, I happened to notice something about you. Keep it to yourself. I'm dating Trent because I want to. Even if he wasn't a lead singer, he didn't have a car and he wasn't able to buy me alcohol, he makes me feel like a person, not a freak or a nerd… I can act like myself around him. For once I don't have to feel guarded… You'll find some poor guy who'll make you feel the same and… w-wait, did mom put you up to this?'

'N-No, I'm just asking because… uhm… I want to get to know you and… uhm…' Quinn eyed the door. 'Oh I hear the phone ringing!' And, with this lie, Quinn darted out of the room. Why hadn't Daria smelt a rat earlier? She issued a low sigh, her magazine now crumpled in her angry clutches.

'Damnit.'

----

Downstairs Quinn relayed the information to her mother. Helen felt a small smile work its way across her face as Quinn explained how Daria had reacted and what she had said. Yes, it was a low-down trick and wouldn't stand well with her daughter, but she was a lawyer second to being a mother.

----

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	27. Daria's Intolerance

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**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Daria's Intolerance**

Jane and Daria arrived at the venue, much to their usual routine. They would turn up, wander around, have a few drinks (non alcoholic, of course) before the bands would, metaphorically speaking, start killing cats on stage. Neither was particularly eager to see the warm-up sets before Mystik, but they figured it was polite to watch at least.

'Wow, that last guy sounded like he dropped a piano on his face,' Jane whined, a finger prodding her injured eardrum.

'They're called warm-up acts; they're supposed to be worse than the actual band so they sound better by comparison.'

'Ah, so they're like a band's wingman.'

Daria shrugged in response, eyeing the stage once more. In-between her petite self and the stage was an assortment of middle school girls. Most of them looked around fifteen or sixteen all donned in black and faces painted to match. Usually Trent and the rest of his band would play over 18 venues, slipping Jane and Daria through the back entrance… at least it meant less of the crazed 12-year-olds fawning over guys at least 11 years older than them. Well, not that Daria was wholly innocent of liking someone a few years older – it just seemed more natural after the two or so years they'd known one another.

Jane seemed to notice too, suggesting they fight their way towards the front so they could actually see the band – Daria was a shortie, meaning most other venue patrons outsized her by at least three inches. 'Trent might even throw you his pick,' Jane added with a smirk.

'And Jesse might lob a drumstick at you. We can only hope,' Daria countered, her eyes settled on the closed curtains. Apparently there was some gimmick for the night, but Daria had heard nothing of the sort. 'Alright, let's try…' Daria elbowed her way to the front of the stage as the curtains were drawn. Screams built, lights dropped and the low sound of Trent's singing began. Their usual introduction hadn't been run through, but somehow, it didn't matter…

----

Daria awoke the morning after Mystik's big performance to find her vision blurred and shoulders bare against the chilly surroundings of the unknown. She felt an ethereality build around her as she tried to piece together her surroundings, her eyes unfocused and sore. She could make out Trent's room, but beyond that was an utter mystery. Her bleary eyesight was accompanied by the slight twinge in her stomach and hips, an ache that was as unwelcome as it was necessary. Her mind sieved through her thoughts, crashing upon the notion of slow, precise gestures and the thick smell of faded sweat.

Were Daria the type to curse, she would have very loudly, and very emotively. She felt unsure and uneasy, her body aching in places she never really thought of. The word 'damn' arose from her before she was tugged closer by her bedfellow and newly titled lover. Trent had one arm lazily draped over the edge of the bed while the other kept a comfortable grasp around her petite frame. After a few moments of reassuring eye contact, he imparted a knowing smile and a kiss to the forehead. She was struck red right to the core, her heart tripling in pace.

She had finally done _it._ Ironic she had just spent so much time assuring her mother she would never, ever do something of this nature – well – it made her inwardly cringe. Though, much to her dismay and relief, she was never going to be able to tell Jane all the details - a stifled yawn pulled her out of her own awkward thoughts.

Trent seemed discontent with the fact Daria was laying beside him, and with little effort, he pulled the 5'2" figure of Daria onto his front, hugging her as if she were some pillow or teddy bear. He had been gentle, she mused, a trait that she was more than thankful for. Trent had been true to his nature; slow, deliberate and almost reproachful. All the things that Daria needed, she supposed. It wasn't something she'd ever wanted to think about, but upon reflection… it just made sense.

She wondered, bundled in Trent's arms, what had sent them off in the direction. All she could remember was the performance Mystik had delivered, how the agent Trent had been speaking to finally offered them paperwork, how they had all been so excited. No one drank, of course, it was just the euphoria of the night seeping into their minds. Daria glanced across the room to see a rather clean span of floor between the doorway and the bed… had Trent kicked things out of the way?

It didn't seem to matter. She knew for a fact she was going to stay at Trent's house, even before the rather heated celebration backstage at the news of Mystik's sudden popularity, and how the practise Daria had been hinting at seemed to be coming to fruition. Once the van had dropped Jane, Taylor Daria and Trent off at the Lane household, Taylor and Jane seemed to disappear in their usual fashion. This left Daria and Trent the house. Again, Daria hadn't planned to sleep with Trent so soon; however, with the realisation of their limited time and the sudden induction into the world of adults, Daria had managed to make a rushed, illicit decision to take advantage of Jane vanishing for the night. They both knew it, that Daria had never been this impulsive – but Trent had a way of making her feel the faster you made the decision, the better.

In some ways, it reminded her of the time she had gotten her bellybutton pierced. She had been anxious, expecting pain and embarrassment but Trent had held her hand, settled her nerves and made her almost oblivious to everything outside their physical intimacy. Trent seemed to want to say something as he finally woke up, but the words seemed to stop forming for the languid guitarist. Daria stifled the need to talk with a gentle peck on his lips and a suggestion of pancakes.

'Do I have to make them?'

'Hell yes you do,' Daria said with a small yawn, hugging onto the pillow beside her as Trent dragged himself out of bed. She averted her eyes and shut her eyes tight against the rather surprising visage of Trent's back – she didn't need to see anymore.

Trent noticed this and just laughed. 'You weren't so shy last night – ow, Daria, play nice or else the pancakes might be laced with like… onion or something,' Trent smirked as he caught the pillow that had been flung towards his face. He tugged on some clothes before trekking downstairs in search of food or any other kind of sustenance.

----

The next few days passed with a gloomy, impartial feeling to them. Every gesture seemed to pale in comparison to the idea that both Jane and Daria were heading off to Boston. Trent was, for the most part, secluded to his room and mostly despondent. Daria had come to visit Jane regarding the car trip, as well as their predicament.

'So we're living on campus then?' Daria asked with her hands tucked into her pockets. Somehow, time had flown and the holidays had slipped from her. She tried her best not to think about concerns outside of where they would be living, as it seemed all too real…

'I guess, until we can find jobs and a nice little house to rent out,' Jane thought aloud, her figure strewn out over her bed. Everything was packed away, her easels and her posters – even her sound system was tucked into a suitcase. She only had a few days worth of clothes, as well as her bed sheets.

'Ever head the saying 'it's better a devil you know than one you don't?'

'Uhm… yeah? Why?'

'I'm just thinking about all the teachers we'll be getting, not to mention the students we'll have to adjust to.' Daria nudged her toe against the floor, her eyes vaguely unfocused as she mused the point over – she wasn't looking forward to college cheerleaders, jocks, nerds and goths… basically, high school, but with more income _for_ alcohol and less brain cells _because_ of alcohol.

'That's the spirit, denounce everyone before you meet them. Screw the ol' Lawndale one-two,' Jane smirked, her teeth bared in amusement.

'It's nothing like that,' Daria clarified, knowing that it was exactly _'like that'_. Daria and Jane proceeded to watch some TV for the moment, knowing full and well it may have been the last time they ever did this in Lawndale as high schoolers. It was noteworthy, the end of an era, and the beginning of a new one. After a few hours, the day seemed sufficiently wasted, just like old times…

'Oh, before you go, can you give this to Trent? He left it in here before,' Jane said as she looked around the room. After a moment of desperation, she picked up a stray paintbrush from the floor (with some difficulty, as it seemed attached to the carpet with some kind of paint) and handed it to Daria.

'… Isn't this yours?'

'No, no, why would you think that?' Jane asked, her eyes darting about.

'Your name is on it,' Daria said sarcastically as she tossed the paintbrush down to Jane. Without waiting, she walked out of the room and yelled over her shoulder, 'I was going to talk to him anyway.'

'Right… Well… Paper thin walls Morgendorffer!'

Daria scoffed to herself as she knocked on Trent's door, eager yet annoyed to see him. They had spoken since their little encounter the other day, but with the idea of Raft sneaking up on them, he seemed to go into further seclusion. A scraping of feet against carpet (and other materials) could be heard, the voice of a drowsy Trent announcing he slow approach. 'Look Jane, I said I'd clean up the – oh. Hey Daria.'

Daria looked up at Trent, her arms crossed and eyebrows twitched in a look of expectation. 'Well?'

'Oh. Wait. Uh…' Trent leant down and gave her a hug, practically picking her up in his arms and placing her back down in one dozy swoop. He punctuated the gesture with a tender kiss and his 'winning' smile, which looked more like he was on drugs than anything else. 'Better?'

'That isn't an explanation,' Daria said with a small hint of amusement. She welcomed herself into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed with her feet just barely brushing the ground. It was a high bed; at least, that was her argument against it.

'I've done something?' Trent asked rather affronted.

'It's what you haven't done.' There was a confused look from Trent. 'Why you haven't broken up with me yet.'

'Okay, _now_ I'm confused… and I'm pretty hard to confuse,' he said in utter deadpan.

Had Daria been in a lighter situation, she would have started laughing right then and there… however, the reality of the situation was far too stressful to allow for light-hearted jokes to be made, or even acknowledged. 'I'm going off to college, you're about to 'hit it big' in the music industry. This is the part where you're supposed to say you like me, and how this – us – wouldn't work as a long-distance relationship.'

'Why wouldn't it?'

Daria began her next monologue with a prolonged sigh. 'You'll end up heading off with some girl with less personality than a shovel, and I'll settle down with a boorish old accountant named Fred. He'll delight in rending my abrasive nature into ribbons, and I'll just pick on him for his various trains that he'll collect. I'll probably pop out three kids and then wonder where my life went, and you'll be overdosed in a strip club somewhere with a guitar in one hand a wad of bills in the other.' Daria took a small breath, her arms crossed across her lap, chin almost touching her chest.

Trent watch Daria for a moment or two; he eemed particularly affronted by the piece about him being tempted off by women based on appearances, but it let it slide. 'Uh… it sounds like you're breaking up with me,' Trent faltered, his expression now void of any tiredness or boredom – he seemed genuinely concerned, but Daria played it off as him trying to make her feel worse. His disinterested and upset expression wasn't a particularly rock star appearance, but Daria had seen him looking worse.

Daria sat for a few moments as a quiet, unwavering entity of self-assured teenage know-how, feeling her negativity encompass everything she needed to feel and know. 'I don't think it'd work.'

'Duh. I got _that_ part. But why not? I think you're just being all negative.'

'I'm not being negative, I'm just a pragmatist. You'll be touring, I'll be studying… Do you honestly think you could put effort into someone like me with other options? All the movie stars and models with fake breasts and tiny skirts… I have a good self-image, but somehow I think they'll become more your type,' Daria paused, as if to think for a few more moments, 'I hardly possess enough 'endearing' qualities to keep you interested for another few months anyway, let alone years. Especially with all the distance that will be between us - that's going to become problematic…'

'Daria, as mature as you are, you act really immature sometimes. Uh, as nicely as that can be taken, that is. I like what you are, mostly because you're not all glamour and plastic surgery. You're hot on your own – and I like your humour, and how smart you are,' he paused, noticing how this seemed to be going straight over her head. 'Didn't I say to you like, ages ago you were a muse to me? Why do you think Mystik got signed? You _made_ me practise; you gave us stuff to sing and made me even more passionate about performances. And I think I can say that I more than like you.'

'Uhm. Thanks.' Daria smiled, her mental progression into a lonely housewife with three kids and a husband named Fred pausing for a moment; she felt that this conversation was going the way she had planned – for the better, obviously, but it still seemed somewhat stifled by her apprehension and stilted by his words.

'No problem.'

'What do we do now?' she asked as Trent sat beside her, his hands resting on either knee.

'Dunno… Make out?'

'God I hate you sometimes,' Daria said with a small laugh, her hands pressed against her face as she leant forwards. She wasn't sure whether to feel upset and relieved that her boyfriend was a complete idiot… that they never took anything seriously and never really discussed anything. Maybe that was part of his appeal, she thought. He never made her feel like discussing things too deeply, a trait that was reminiscent of Tom. He did, however, allow her to ramble and rave about whatever she _was _thinking about, and didn't feel afraid to tell her she was being stupid or immature.

'Funny, I could say the same,' he said as he placed an arm around her shoulders, hugging her under his arm as he stared in front of him. 'We can just keep dating, for now, if you willing to. I mean, until you decide that I'm just some whacked out guitarist in a kickass grunge band and you can't stand being with someone so awesome …'

'Y'know Trent,' Daria said with a small smirk continuing to form across her face, 'you may be slow, frustrating, simplistic and lazy… but… I guess I don't hate you as much as I'd hate the figurative Fred…'

'Can I just say I love you, or are we gonna sit and keep making cheesy lines about it?'

'Wait, changed my mind. It's hate for sure,' Daria said as she smothered Trent with a pillow, amused by the fact he picked up what she had meant… Somehow, it felt tacky, classless and stupid to fall in love with someone like Trent. And in most ways, this assumption was correct.

'C'mon, maybe once more, for old time's sake?'

'Old time's sake? You mean three or four days ago?' Maybe they wouldn't keep dating, maybe they would… somehow, Daria thought she was probably the only person that could love someone as impossible as Trent. And, in that moment she spotted something, something glinting silver against Trent's wrist. A smirk crossed her face, 'You're still wearing the watch?'

'So I can remember the time you took my breath away,' Trent said with another 'winning' smile.

'Wow, I think you just made me lactose-intolerant with that one.' Daria half-gagged through her laughter, smacking Trent over the head with one hand. It wasn't before long they were celebrating the freedom and security of their relationship, despite the 'paper-thin walls' Jane constantly bitched about.

And maybe, even if college did suck, she could at least remember the times she spent in Lawndale and remember that everything gets better with time, and with effort – even if it did take almost two years to _get _better.

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	28. Taking Out The Trash

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**Chapter Twenty-Eight (Finale); Taking Out The Trash  
**

Daria had been at Raft for the course of four years now, her assignments and essays practically flying by. She was almost top of her class, only beaten by one or two other students, and this was only because Daria hadn't been putting her all to her studies as of late. She found herself invested in other experiences like dating, dining and being an adult and dealing with bills as well.

Over the years, she experienced college life to the fullest; late-night conquests with Jane, adventures to bars and the ever-popular college parties that she only partly hated. Her mind had a sudden chill; as she waited out the last few moments of her lecture, something struck her. She needed to get to a radio, her mind practically racing. As her lecturer adjourned them for the final time, she felt a dull twinge of amusement. Only a few more assignments to complete, and she was done with school forever… she would be an adult, a writer and independent – for the most part.

It was like finishing high school all over again, just with fewer idiots and more friends - something Daria knew was not coincidental. At a remarkable pace for a person of 22, Daria arrived back at her dorm with jittering hands and a swelled heart. The sound of static rung for a few seconds before it tuned in. Sometimes she was thankful it was only Jane and herself in the house, though they always had one passing roommate who would help make ends meet ever few months – they remained constant, which was all that mattered. Jane was even talking about asking Taylor to live with them, seeing as Jane and Taylor attended the same art school through some unimaginable stroke of luck.

The radio finally began to make the same tinny sounds of a station rather than white noise.

'-and after the ad break we'll have an exclusive interview with the lead guitarist and vocalist of the new, the hot, the amazing Mystik Spiral.' It was the word 'new' really made Daria laugh. Mystik had been around since the 90s, so to call them new in 2004 was a bit of a laugh. Either someone hadn't done their homework, or wasn't bothered by anything outside meagre buzzwords.

One positive however, was that she hadn't missed the interview that Trent had spent ages stressing to her – apparently they were more important than all the other boring and repetitive interviews he had to sit through each time an album was released.

Daria, as always, tuned out for the ads, her eyes settled on her hands while she waited for the voice of the interviewer come back. After a long-winded introduction and annoying series of sound effects, Trent was allowed to speak. His voice was as slow, unassuming and familiar as usual, though clearly matured in the four years that had flown by them.

'Hey.' _Simple, _Daria mentally sighed, wondering how this interview was going to be any different from the rest.

'Quiet as always,' the voice of the main announcer laughed, accompanied by their vapid, girlish co-host. Daria thought their names were something like 'Ben and Lisa' but she couldn't say for sure.

'So Trent, you've been on tour for the past few weeks, just jammin' and trying to get your sound around,' Lisa giggled, 'I think it's safe to say that pretty much everyone in the world that is _anyone_ is anticipating the release of your new album!'

Trent issued a hollow laugh, and Daria assumed, he shook his head along with said laugh. 'Nah, not the whole world... only about eight or nine people max,' he added with another small laugh. That was usually their numbers, back when they were still small-time.

'So modest,' Lisa laughed, causing Daria to shake her own head in mild annoyance. 'Well anyway, we're here to ask the tough questions that your fans have sent in... Let's start with one from Tyler Banks of Oklahoma... He asks; what's the best food to have on a date?'

'Pizza,' Trent said without missing a beat. Daria settled away from the radio, a book in hand. She could guess almost every answer the male would be asked, much to her dismay. After a while the questions became a little less appropriate, but all the more hilarious.

'And, courtesy of Amelia Bradshaw of NYC… favourite position?'

'Uh… As in…?'

There was silence for a few seconds before Trent gave an audible snort-laugh, coughing rather noisily. 'Can you even ask that?' he asked himself through the coughs, laughing all the while. Daria sat up suddenly, glaring at the radio with a noticeably disgusted expression. _Oh God, oh god, oh god_, she thought rather angrily to herself. 'Am I supposed to answer that?'

'You don't have to… but every question you answer gets you $10 towards a charity of your choice,' Lisa teased, Ben laughing in the background once more. There was a pause, a beat or two was missed as Trent seemed to be considering the question.

'I'm gonna have to pass – I'll just pay the $10 myself for the quest. I have a feeling I'm gonna be the charity everyone is donating to after I see her next,' he admitted with a tinted tone to his voice – Daria could tell he sincerely wanted to answer the question, but thankfully he wasn't about to divulge any answers.

'Her?' Ben asked in a shocked tone.

'Who's '_her_'?' Lisa echoed, all the voices seemed to lean in closer and closer to the microphone.

'Uh…' Trent paused once again, seeming to think over the topic. He mumbled a reply that was indecipherable before a sudden clearing of the voice could be heard. 'My fiancée-to-be – c'mon guys, do your homework, we've been dating for years now,' but this assertion was tinged with doubt. This had been his reason for requesting Daria bothered to listen to the radio.

'…Well that was always just rumours, wasn't it?' Ben nervously laughed, only to be covered by Lisa.

'Who _is_ she? A model? Actress? Athelete?' Lisa ran off professions and names, but none seemed to guess. Daria frowned – they had been dating since she had ended high school, and yet she was still not recognised as his partner? After all these years she was still Janey's little friend? It was all she could do to not turn off the radio right then and there, finding all this a little annoying rather than amusing.

Until the metaphorical penny dropped. 'Fiancée-to-be? What does that even mean?' she muttered to herself. Were she more like her sister Quinn, she would have started bouncing and jumping around, squealing and crying on the phone to her girlfriends, but instead she sat with a dull smile on her face and a ruddy glow to her cheeks. A conversation they'd had a few months ago suddenly flashed to her mind, causing her to laugh once more.

----

'You know how you can tell someone is married?' Trent had yawned from the bed they shared between school and the band's requirements. It was Daria's shared house in Boston with Jane, something they had agreed upon when they arrived in Boston. It meant that Trent could visit his family and girlfriend in the one hit, though he did have to persuade Jane and Taylor to frolic off for a while.

'How? They scream and yell a lot more than usual?' Daria asked from between the sheets, her arms resting under her chin as she watched him scamper around collecting his things.

'If they ask someone if they've taken out the trash – y'know, the menial little things… things that you don't even think about twice.'

'Romantic. ' Daria replied, sitting up with her hands now laced with Trent's. She had, had no idea how they had lasted so long, but maybe it came down to times like those. It was the times where they would be alone, talking about things that no one else would care about, referring to the smallest little social anomalies that sparked in their mind.

Maybe it made sense then that Trent had subtly suggested their engagement and that he hadn't gone about it the typical, big-budgeted way. Despite his income multiplying to some insane degree, he retained the same bum-like nature and inability to articulate that Daria had always been amused by. And, thinking about it, it was probably inspired by the small, delicate leaflet from Tom Sloane announcing his engagement to a girl he'd met at Bromwell. A girl of equal class, of equal stature and equal ideals. Daria was happy for Tom, and the wedding had been note-worthy. Daria had attended, as had Jane, and they had, had a rather expensive but fun day – something that surprised all three members of the previous love-triangle.

Monique, on the other hand, had been a stranger to Trent ever since they had gotten the piercings together. In some ways, they were both thankful that Monique had convinced herself that Trent was 'going no-where and fast' rather than attempted reconciliation. Between Monique and Tom, though, Daria and Trent had shared a fairly open policy for the first couple of years apart. Daria had dated a few others, and Trent associated with some starlets…

They had mutually decided to start being exclusive after Daria had spotted an article spouting nonsense about Trent allegedly getting engaged to a groupie named Guppy Williams – someone Trent had never even heard of.

But all this drama, all their worry and all their stress amounted to a few days of blissful reunion; Daria standing against a door, wall, wherever they would happen to meet and Trent proudly leaning over her with a smirk and an arm just above her head. Though Daria knew what the question on the radio _meant_, she felt this was a more appropriate answer to the query, and probably the answer Trent was going to provide. It was their stance, her face turned up toward him for once and his chin angled down just enough so they wouldn't clash too badly when one of them finally caved.

Daria felt her mind snap back into reality when she heard her phone chime. Leaning across her bed, she snapped the radio off and answered it. Something told her she didn't need to check the caller ID. 'Hey rock star.'

'Hey bookworm.' The voice was low, amused and anticipating; it was obviously Trent.

'I was nice for once,' Daria replied in a mildly offended tone, examining her nails for a moment – _I look like I tried to dig a hole in concrete, _she thought to herself. 'Try again.'

'Oh right. Uh. Hey… uhm…Dar?'

'Bu-buw,' Daria made a mock buzzer sound and hung up. A moment passed before the phone rang once more, the sound accompanied by a smirk as she answered.

'Okay, okay, _still_ working on the nickname thing.' Trent admitted with a small laugh.

'How about you just call me Daria?'

'How about I just call you Mrs. Trent Lane?' he suggested, his words holding a much more serious proposition than either would openly admit.

Daria made a fake wrenching sound, barely surprised at her own boldness. As she had gotten older, she had proceeded to become unguarded around those she trusted most. 'Mr. Daria Morgendorffer has a better ring to it,' she countered, her knees now hugged to her chest. Her head rolled back slightly as she leant her back against the wall, wondering to herself whether or not to tell her mother right away about all this… she decided to save it for when she was next in trouble for not having any grandchildren yet.

_----_

_He said breath in  
Love is good to you  
I can't say the same for me though  
Smile!  
Because love is good to you _

_----_

_~FIN~_

_Thank you to all my reviewers, it's you guys who kept me writing and forced me to actually finish this story. Perhaps the first and only story I've ever actually finished and reworked in my whole life – and that's saying something! _


	29. Author's ThankYou

_I thought I'd add a small chapter to thank everyone and anyone who took the time to read my story, as well as anyone in the future who will read this. I take the time to thank you all immensely for your support throughout my process of drafting, writing, re-writing and editing... not to mention the countless times people have inspired me to work through plot issues and phrasing problems. I'd also like to admit that I couldn't have finished this 50, 000 word plus monstrosity without the support of various friends and even just the small 'I loved the (insert element here)' comments. So I think I'll leave it at that; as I said I'm re-working and editing this fanfiction, so check back every so often - I might have added chapters or added new scenes... if that's worth checking back on, that is._

_- Vlora  
_

**Final Message**

**I'm interested in producing several drawings that effectively 'sum up' the story, 'Sinspiration'. Because of this, I'm calling out to anyone/everyone who has read this story to recommend scenes or ideas they'd like to see illustrated. I'm severely lacking any inspiration when it comes to drawings, let alone specific scenes from a fic I'm still reworking/editing. Any recommendations can be given as reviews, or as private messages.  
**


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